


in silence sealed

by merthyr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, F/M, Marauders' Era, So much angst, almost a mystery, not really lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthyr/pseuds/merthyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know what my brother has you doing, but it isn't worth it. You should go back home, back to France or wherever it is you bloody came from, and move on with your life. Albus can find someone else to do it."</p><p>"No. It has to be me."</p><p>Or: <em>Hermione is in the past. Things don't go according to plan.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

>   
>    
>  The human heart has hidden treasures,  
>    
>  In secret kept, in silence sealed;  
>    
>  The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,  
>    
>  Whose charms were broken if revealed.

 

 

Remus stopped still, ankle deep in a snowbank. “Really, James? Could you be any more cliche?”

The Hog’s Head’s sign creaked ominously in the wind. The shingled roof was draped in snow, seeming to slope under the weight, and long icicles jutted from the eaves; hints of gold gleamed through the frosted window panes. The door to the inn slammed open as a hooded figure hurried into the cold, eyes averted as he rushed passed.

Sirius rubbed his hands for warmth as he watched him go. “Gotta say, mate. This is shaping into one of your shittier surprises.”

“Yeah, well, not all gifts fly in by owl, Sirius.” James said mysteriously, a knowing smile on his face. He was vibrating with energy, a manic excitement in his eyes. “And I didn’t set up the meeting place, Moony. Can’t say I disapprove of the atmosphere, though.”

Sirius hoped they’d gotten him something illegal, and that’s why they’d made him hike out here. But it was also possible they were just yanking his chain-- he didn’t trust that self-satisfied look on Moony’s face. He snorted, pinning them with shrewd eyes and a knowing smirk, “I’ll play along, but I expect this to be good.”

“I swear, Pads, we’re not--” James started laughing, “We’re not taking you for a ride.”

Remus gave James a long suffering look, and Peter tried to hide his giggles with a cough.

“We really did get you something.” James assured, “It’s, uh, it’s really… Shit, I can’t think of another one.”

“It’ll really rev your engine?” Peter assisted.

James snapped his finger and pointed approvingly. “Nice one, Pete!

“Subtle, too.” Remus deadpanned. “So are we going to meet your man inside, or--?”

Sirius, who had been looking more and more suspicious as the conversation went on, tilted his head and listened towards the sky. He could hear a rumbling in the distance, low and constant. “The hell is that? Do you hear it?” A small black speck cleaved the clouds, dark against the silver sky. Death Eaters? It couldn’t be, not in Hogsmeade in broad daylight. It descended, getting louder and closer, until he could finally make out it’s shape. “Is that a…?”

James’ smile split his face in two. He stretched his hands out, fingers waggling. “Surprise!” He shouted.

 

 

 

The two hooded men in the corner stood up and shook hands, their shady deal done. The taller man tightened his grip on his friend’s fingers and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“...waiting… longer… trust… _your lord_ …”

The other man yanked back his hand, cradling it to his chest like he’d been burned by a fire. The tall man chuckled, a slithering sound, and motioned for the door. The friend, no-- the pawn, the associate, one of _them--_ backed away, over turning his chair in his great haste, and rushed for the exit. The windows shook as the door slammed open.

Aberforth took his dirty rag to the pewter flagon, unimpressed by the scene, and Hermione held in a sigh. The door was pinned open by the wind so she pulled it shut and melted the snow that had drifted in with the draft.

On the far side of the room the hooded man had reseated himself. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel his gaze, expecting and… amused. She warily made her way across, propping the chair back up and moving to take the empty mug on the table. She heard the telltale swish of sliding cloth and felt her muscles go taut on instinct.

His hand alighted on hers, cool and solid. She tensed, but she didn’t pull away, not yet. She stared into the hood, at the black hole of his face, and told herself she was unafraid. “Yes?” She said cooly.

“You don’t belong here.” He said it strangely, less like a threat and more like an acclaim. Hermione didn’t say anything to that-- he was right, after all. After an overlong moment he pulled his hand away, his teeth a pearly gleam in the candlelight. He rolled a half-hand of sickles onto the table. “For your trouble.” And for your silence.

She pocketed the money as he left. He politely tucked his chair in before heading up the stairs towards his rented room. Aberforth was still behind the bar, still pretending to polish his flagons, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he watched her, and a steely set to his shoulders.

“You need a break?” He asked gruffly.

She sighed, a weary smile sneaking onto her face. “No one’s here, Aberforth.”

He glared. “So what? Would you rather clean?”

No one ever cleaned here. He got annoyed when she even tried. She shook her head. “No, I’ll go in the back. Thank you. Let me know when someone comes in.”

“I’ve been taking care of this place by myself since before you were born.”

She smiled, but didn’t have the energy to laugh. “I know you have, very well.”

“Get back there and stop patronizing me.” He growled.

 

 

 

“I love you, all of you. So much.”

“I know.”

“I could _kiss_ you.”

“Please don’t.” Remus said with a smirk. He leaned Sirius’ new motorbike under the eaves, casting notice-me-not charms on it to keep it safe.

“Speak for yourself.” James exclaimed. He tapped his cheek expectantly, fluttering his eyelashes. Sirius lobbed a snowball at him instead.

They were all laughing when they entered the Hog’s Head, James wiping his glasses dry with his cloak sleeve. They took a seat in the near corner and Remus lit the guttered candle with his wand. When James saw the blur on the windows he wiped his glasses again, before realizing it had nothing to do with his vision and everything to do with housekeeping.

“God, this place is a wreck. How hard is it to cast some cleaning charms?” Sirius said, sounding more excited by this than he should. He stared gleefully at the grumpy barkeep and the collection of dingy bottles behind him. He could practically see his mother standing behind him, glaring at him and his surroundings with fury. The very idea filled him with… _something_. Pride, probably. “You don’t think he’ll snitch on us, do you?”

“He might if you keep complaining so loudly.” Remus said.

“Right, right. So where are we going to keep her until the hols? I don’t think she’ll fit under my bed.”

“ _Her_?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Hagrid said he’d let us keep it in his shed ‘til we can take it to my house.” James explained. With a cheeky smile he added, “I promised we’d let him try it out.”

“Try _her_ out, you mean...” Peter said slyly.

“Hey!” Sirius slapped his hand on the table, his mouth stern but his eyes laughing. “She’s a beautiful lady, Pete, and she deserves to be spoken of with re--” He trailed off, distracted by the appearance of a _real_ beautiful lady.

She slid out from the backroom, arms held high as she pulled back a riot of brown curls from her face. She was small, fine boned, with dark eyes framed with darker lashes. With her arms held aloft like that he could easily trace the slender line of her throat, down, down, towards the hollow of her collarbone and the swell of her--

Remus smacked him upside the head. Then, in true Remus fashion, he turned his head to the pair behind the bar and flashed a mother-approved smile. The man looked like he couldn’t care less, glaring at the four of him like his job depended on it, and the woman… She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

She lowered her arms, dark eyes wide and sad and a little scared. The coils of her hair were already springing loose from their tie. She shook her head and slowly backed away, behind the door and far from view.

“You’ve really got a way with the ladies, Pads.” James said dryly.

Sirius blinked, pulling away from his thoughts. Something about that girl had unsettled him, and he didn’t think he liked it. “Better than you.” He shot back.

“Excuse you. _I_ have a girlfriend. The most beautiful, most intelligent, most--!”

“And there’s my queue to leave.” Remus heaved himself off his chair and angled for the bar. “I’m guessing you all want the usual?”

 

 

 

Hermione sat on a barrel of mead, head between her knees, breathing in her nose and out her mouth. When she could no longer feel her heart pounding between her ears she sat up and assessed the situation.

She’d handled that poorly. That hadn’t been the first time she’d run into people she’d known, and it wouldn’t be the last. She could _not_ afford to have a panic attack every time. But he had looked _so_ much like Harry, and when he’d looked at her his eyes had been wrong and--

\--and it was like no time had passed at all, like her heart was freshly bleeding; like she was newly alone and she wasn’t _used_ to this already.

She stood up and pinched her cheeks, pushing the color back into her face. She needed to be stronger than this. She simply _had_ to be. Straightening her robes and steeling her face she walked out again into the light.

The four boys were in their corner, hunched over and laughing. Aberforth was pouring the last of their order into a questionably clean mug. He looked up when he saw her, but he didn’t ask the obvious question, and she was grateful for that.

“I’ll take those to the table for you.

“...Suit yourself.”

 

 

 

The mugs were set firmly on the table. Sirius looked up --either to say thank you or to say something smart, he hadn’t decided yet-- but his brain stopped working when he looked into dark eyes. She was even prettier up close, which was an accomplishment he wished to congratulate her on, but there was still something very off about her.

She just looked so sad, and somehow fragile, and quite honestly he was thinking _way_ too deeply about this so he said the first thing that came to mind which was, “Do you have a bezeor?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He leaned forward, chin propped up in palm. “--Because I think someone slipped me a love potion.”

There were several ways that could have gone, some of them quite bad, but he’d managed to wrangle some semblance of a smile out of her. Only a semblance, though, since there was something off about it like there was something off about all of her.

She looked to him, down his arm and to the table. She took a quick, steadying breath, and then she looked at him again and didn’t so much as glance at the others. “Does that ever work for you?” She asked with just the littlest nibble of reproach.

Remus made a small, strangled sound that Sirius recognized as a laugh. He grinned winningly and said, “I don’t know, is it working now?”

She shook her head, smile slowly fading. “No, sorry. Better luck next time, I suppose. Enjoy your drinks.” She forced out a one-note laugh and turned away, and that’s when he recognized it.

That was him. She was like him, like how he used to be, before he’d got his friends and the fight in him. Suddenly it was like everything she did sucked him back to the past-- the too-careful cut of her gait; the hiding shrink in her shoulder; the way her smile was _real_ but it wasn’t quite _right_ ; and most of all it was the way she couldn’t even fucking meet his eyes without forcing herself to.

He wondered what had been done to her, and when. Gods, was there was always going to be bad things happening to lonely people? Try as he might --and he really did try-- he could never forget what that was like. As he watched her walk away, everything impressed upon him how much she _missing_ something _._

It took him a moment to even realize they were laughing. James yanked on his arms and he looked back at them, startled. “C’mon, Sirius, cheer up. It’s not the first time you’ve been turned down, and it won’t be the last.”

“Not like that, though.” Peter wheezed, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. Sirius glared. It wasn’t nearly that funny.

“She was very quick and polite about it.” Remus defended.

“That’s what made it so good!” Pete said, “Couldn’t even get her to blush.”

“Shut up, Pete, you couldn’t pay a girl to go out with you.” Sirius snapped. Peter colored and looked away, but didn’t say anything in return. Figures. “...Did she seem alright to you?” He asked more calmly. He looked at Remus as he spoke, wondering if he’d seen it too. Remus was thoughtful like that.

Remus blinked, mulling it over a bit. “I don’t know.” He glanced over at the bar. The girl was sitting on one of the stools, reading a book. “I think she’s just quiet?”

That wasn’t it at all. But if he didn’t notice, then why bother explaining? He steered the subject to safer spaces, back to the motorbike, the map, and how Professor Tatters hadn't yet realized he’d taken the test results.

 

 

 

 

It seemed to be forever, but in reality it was less than an hour. She stared at the same page the entire time, trying not to listen to their conversation; trying not to remember what that togetherness was like, and why she didn’t have it anymore.

The chairs scraped against the ground, the sound muffled by the filth on the floor. Hermione could hear them murmuring, quieter than before, before someone broke away and another person --Remus, she thought-- shouted out, “Sirius, give it a rest!”

She didn’t know what he was talking about until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked away from the page she’d never read and into gray eyes.

“I’m Sirius.” He said.

I know, she wanted to say back.

He stared at her strangely and she realized she’d never replied. “I’m sorry,  for, uh… Being a prat.” He said awkwardly, ending it all with a toothy smile. From the way he spoke, she gathered he didn’t apologize very often. She wondered why he thought he had to now.

In truth, Hermione had found it a little crass. But it had been Sirius, and he was alive, and he wasn’t miserable. And frankly she didn’t have enough energy to be annoyed lately. Seeing him look guilty like this reminded her of Ron and that made her smile. “It’s fine.” She said truthfully.

She felt the cold wind sweep in through the door. “C’mon, Sirius, if we don’t get back by dinner they’ll notice we’re gone.” Said a voice she’d never heard before. She refused to look and see who. That was a hurdle for another day, perhaps even never.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sirius shouted back. To her, he said, “Sorry, but what was your name again?”

She’d never told him.

One of the bells by the staircase rang. A guest upstairs needed something, and they only had one guest. Aberforth threw down his rag, “Helen, watch the bar, I’ll go see what he needs.” He said before storming up the stairs.

Sirius grinned. “Helen.” He said slowly, savoring, saving it to mind. She nodded.

“Sirius!” This shout was distant. He turned back, but his friends were already outside and on their way.

“I’ll see you later then!” He said, before turning on his heels and jogging away. His fingers caught the corner of the door as he left, and he almost shut it, but a gust of wind tore it right back open and stuck it to the wall.

She sighed, tired and wan, and walked over to close it. The wood was chilled, and it felt nice to lean her forehead against the grain. The cold made her feel clear headed, like she used to be, and there was strong comfort in a once-was.

“Which one was it?”

Hermione looked behind her at Aberforth. He stood on the guest side of the bar, staring at her with his bright blue eyes. “Whatever do you mean?” She asked.

His eyes narrowed behind his dingy spectacles. “I know what it looks like when a person’s lost someone. It looks just like you did, over there, when you saw those boys in the corner. The only thing I don’t know is which one you were looking at.”

She turned her body to lean back against the door. She let the chill seep into her bones, down to the marrow. They stared at each other, and Hermione realized that for the past few weeks Aberforth hadn’t really been looking at her, but through her, around her. But he saw her now. And she’d always seen him.

“The one with the glasses.” Hermione whispered. Somehow saying it aloud made it more real, and she shivered.

He nodded and looked away, swallowing hard. His hands twitched for something to fiddle with; his rag was nearby and he scooped it up, rubbing thoughtless circles on the counter. “I don’t know what my brother has you doing, but it isn’t worth it.” He said in a gruff voice. “You should go back home, back to France or wherever it is you bloody came from, and move on with your life. Albus can find someone else to do it.”

“It has to be me.” She said quietly.

Aberforth rolled his eyes. “No it doesn’t. How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

“I’m nineteen."

“Oh, you’re nineteen? Well, my apologies then.” He clenched his rag and turned to glare straight at her. “Look-- maybe it has to be someone, but it doesn’t have to be you.”

“No… No, it has to be me.” She said more strongly.

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

That made him mad. She didn’t blame him; his brother and his secrets. He turned away so she wouldn’t see the red in his face.

“Fine. Fine! It has to be you.” He sounded like he’d believe in Blibbering Humdingers before he believed in that. He sighed, and the fight went out of him along with the wind. “Go to sleep, Helen.” He said gruffly. “I’ll clean up down here.”

The light was gone from outside, and Aberforth was lit by candle alone. There was something very lonely in the cast of his shadow; something bruised and tender that she recognized in herself. Hermione came to stand beside him. “You never clean anything.” She chided.

He rolled his eyes again, mouthing something under his beard that looked a lot like ‘uppity chit’, but he seemed calmer nonetheless. “Well, it won’t get any dirtier. Get to sleep, now. I mean it.”

“I will. And… thank you.”

Aberforth snorted and went back to circling the same spot on the counter with his filthy rag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. I'm here to fulfill your need for cheesy cliches and abuse the italics.


	2. Chapter 2

Half past two, and the pub was silent. She heard the stairs creak as Aberforth ascended to his room. He’d left a candle for her on the mantelpiece. It lit the room with flickering light-- just enough to gaze into Arianna’s smiling face.

“I’m going to see your brother.” She told her, and the portrait slowly opened.

 

 

 

“Yeah, he’s not coming.” Sirius said.

He let his head fall back against the stone. He wished he’d thought to bring a fag. The wind felt good in his hair, and it was nice to look at the stars, but he was just so, _so-_ \- Ugh, he just didn’t _feel_ good, and he wanted one, damnit it.

“He’s probably held up or something. Maybe he’s, I don’t know… Maybe one of the other snakes is still up and he can’t leave.”

Sirius cut his eyes to James and glared. “What’d he say, James? He said ‘Astronomy Tower, 2 o’clock’. And you know what? It’s fucking three in the morning, and he’s not fucking here! He’s _not coming_.”  He crossed his arms and scowled. It was petulant and juvenile and he didn’t give a shit. He’d have punched something if he wasn’t surrounded by stone.

James didn’t say anything, just sat there, cross-legged and composed. He kept fiddling with the map, fluttering the pages curiously and tracing things with his finger. The gears of the clock tower went _tock, tock, tock_.

“Are you going to fucking say something, or--?”

The moon was out, and if James didn’t think he saw him roll his eyes, than he had another one coming. “I don’t know, mate. Are you going to calm down or do you need to yell at me some more?”

“Fuck you.”

“Would it make you feel better if I yelled back?”

He groaned and slumped into the wall. “No, I’m done...” He looked at James out of the corner of his eye. He’d changed a lot lately. Sometimes it felt like it came out of nowhere, but he’d been changing for a while, really. Sirius smiled, and he hoped it didn’t look too bitter. “Since when were you the level headed one, Prongs?”

James laughed. “Compared to you? Always.” He looked up from the map, chin propped on his fist. He flashed him one of his half smiles-- practically patented for mischief, and always guaranteed to lift the mood. “Just give it till three, alright? Ten more minutes.”

“Yeah, alright.”

James went back to staring at the map, and Sirius went back to nightdreaming about girls and cigarettes. After a minute James asked him, “Do we have a Granger at this school?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Sirius squinted his eyes and pretended to think about it. When in doubt, deflect. “You’re Head Boy. Aren’t you supposed to know people’s names and shit?”

“I usually do, that’s why I’m asking.” He frowned at the page and thoughtfully tousled his hair. “Hermione Granger… Well, whoever they are they’re talking to Dumbledore in his office.”

“Huh, weird.”

“Yeah…”

They ended up lingering in the tower until a little while after three. Regulus never showed.

 

 

 

“Good evening, Miss Granger.” Said Dumbledore behind the safety of his desk.

Hermione sat down on the edge of a spindly blue chair. She gazed around the room, eyes catching on the sleeping portraits and his shining silver instruments. Anywhere but his eyes. “I think it would be best if you called me by my assumed name, Professor.” She said.

He clasped his hands on the table. She was fascinated by his right hand, the skin healthy and unblackened. “If that is what you would prefer…”

“It is, sir.” Her words came out sharper than she’d intended. She bit her lip and looked out the window. The moon was nearly full.

“You needn’t call me ‘sir’, Miss Gremillon.” He said, his voice achingly gentle. “We’re equals, you and I.”

Ah, and he had her. It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d first said those words to her-- and it had been, hadn’t it? But to her, it had only been three years. Surrendering, she made herself meet his clear blue eyes with her own. She couldn’t even bring herself to be angry at the manipulation, Dumbledore was a master at his craft, after all. Hermione would need that skill on her side in the coming months. Hopefully, with the two of them, it would be enough this time...

She sighed, tucking an errant curl behind her ears. “Would you prefer I call you Dumbledore? I admit, I’m more comfortable calling you Professor.”

“Professor will more than suffice.” He smiled at her, the lines around his eyes creasing.

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to smile back. “You asked for me?” She said, and though she didn’t intend to, she sounded even more waspish than before. She tilted her head, thoughtful, and asked, “Has there been a change in the plan?”

“No, nothing so dire as that. In truth, I summoned you here to ask about your well being. It has been some weeks since your arrival. How do you find your accommodations so far?”

She shuffled awkwardly in her seat, anxiously twisting a loose thread on her star-spangled chair. “I appreciate all the assistance you’ve given me, Professor…”

“You are more than welcome. It is the very least I could do for you, knowing what you’ve done for us.” _And what you will do._ She was getting better at filling in the blanks. “And I presume things are going well with Aberforth? He speaks well of you.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. His eyes twinkled. “As well as he can.”

That sounded more likely. “Yes, we work well together. He’s been very generous to me.” She frowned, her lips pursed in thought. It had only been a week since she and Aberforth had spoken of loss, and she’d realized some things since then. “But you knew he would be kind to me, didn’t you?"

He nodded. “I did. My brother can be gruff, but he is a good man.”

She pinned him with a querulous look. They both knew it was more than that.

He chuckled at her expression. Dumbledore was the only person Hermione knew that could convey sadness, sobriety and approval with just one simple smile. “Sometimes I forget just how much you know.” She doubted that. It sounded nice, though, to be able to forget. “I’m relieved to hear you’re settling in. Have you learned anything of note since we’ve last spoken? Or have you run into any complications?”

“No, not yet.” She chewed her bottom lip, lost in thought. “Not… necessarily.”

“Oh?”

“I spoke to some people. From before. Nothing important, or that could change anything but…” Her shoulders slumped. What had she been thinking? Only about herself, apparently. She should have let Aberforth talk to the Marauders, she should have stayed in the back room. For god’s sake, she had to follow the plan! “But they _are_ important. And I shouldn’t have meddled. I don’t want to change anything...”

“I presume you’re speaking of the seventh year Gryffindors?”

She frowned, wondering how he knew. “Yes.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, a considering look on his face. She waited for him to respond, reminding herself to breathe. She knew it wasn’t rational, but the idea that she’d ruined everything already filled her with dread-- she only had this one chance, and she’d _just_ gotten here.

“I don’t believe speaking to people you knew before will endanger our mission.”

His words startled her from her reverie. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yes. I would not seek them out, but if your paths are meant to cross than I see no harm in allowing it, so long as you remember your limitations. I trust your judgment.”

“Alright.” She agreed hesitantly. She still felt accountable, but the weight was lighter now. It was so hard to trust Dumbledore, but she found herself doing it all the same.

“Hermione,” He began, and her eyes narrowed at her name. She had _just_ told him-- but then, that’s why he used it, didn’t he? She gave him all of her attention. “Whatever happens, good or ill, this is your world now. Do not stop yourself from living in it.”

 

 

 

 

Regulus looked miserable but well rested that morning. Sirius glared at him the whole time, and Reg was smart enough not to look over. Fucker. Who needed him. Yeah, keep talking to your Death Eater chums, picking at your brekkie like a self conscious schoolgirl you fucking lying piece of--

“Are you going to eat that?” Peter pointed at his plate, which held the last slice of bacon. Sirius stared him dead in the eye as he shoved it in his mouth, chewing viciously, mouth open and everything.

Remus rammed his bony elbow into his ribs with bruising force. “Ow! Why are you always so _physical_ , Lupin?”

“Because you respond poorly to verbal criticism.” Remus said, leafing through the pages of his book. “Stop picking on Peter, it’s not his fault you’re pissed. And chew with your mouth closed, you look like an animal.” Eating breakfast, reading, and playing nanny, all at once. How did Moony find the time?

“Whatever, mum.”

Remus huffed a laugh and waved a gently admonishing finger in his direction, “Don’t forget your scarf and hat today. It’s cold out there.”

Sirius snorted into his pumpkin juice. “Shut up, you’re not funny. Anyways, where’s James? It’s almost time for them to let us go.”

“He’s doing Head Boy stuff. And don’t you remember? He’s not coming with us.” Remus was looking at him as if he were a little daft. “He’s going with Lily.”

He smacked himself on the forehead. What a moron, of course James wasn’t coming with them. The poor sod had only been talking about the epic date he had planned with Lily for the past _three weeks_.  “Right, right, you’re right. Then I guess it’s just us three. We’re going to Honeydukes, right? Then we’ll hit Zonko’s after?” And maybe after that he could bully them into joining him at the Hog’s Head.

“Well, actually…” Remus and Peter exchanged a glance, “The Hobgoblin’s are going to be at Dominic’s, so I was going to get my record signed. And Pete here has a date, so.”

Sirius’ mood crashed and burned, which was really saying something, seeing as he was in a shit mood to begin with. “Oh. Well, that’s… Yeah, ok.” He said like the socially challenged idiot that he was.

“I mean, you can come with me if you’d like. I’d have asked you earlier but I know you’re not the biggest fan.”

The pity on Remus’ face sealed the deal. Fuck that, he wasn’t a charity case. “Ugh, no. Stubby Boardman is a giant twat. I’d rather listen to screaming mandrakes.” Remus looked relieved, and Peter muttered something about that being a great band name under his breath. Sirius forced a laugh. “We’ll meet up later though, yeah?”

“Of course.”

The Great Hall was starting to clear out, kids of all ages getting up from their seats in swarms. It was nearly time to line up to leave, and Minnie hated stragglers. Sirius started digging into his breakfast in earnest. He looked up, chewing around a mouthful of eggs, and realized Peter was still staring at him.

“What?” He asked before swallowing. Remus sighed in the distance.

“Congratulations on your date, Peter,” Peter grumbled sarcastically, “I’m really happy for you.”

“Oh, sorry Pete.” He smiled wickedly and asked, “How much is she per hour?”

 

 

 

Hermione broke the ice on the water trough with a simple spell and lazy flick of the wrist. Aberforth’s goats seemed loathe to leave the warmth of their paddock, but one brave soul pranced through the gates and butted her in the thigh. She scritched him absently behind the ear as she gazed down the hill towards the rest of the town below. It was a Hogwarts day-- clumps of underage witches and wizards in school uniform wandered the ice-white streets, laughing and chatting 

Seeing the scene filled her with a sickly feeling. The students looked happy, and she was glad of it, she really was, but that didn’t stop her from bitterly wanting what they had. She missed Hogwarts with a fierce longing. She missed the castle, with it’s ancient library and it’s airy classrooms; she missed her coursework and the satisfaction of learning; she missed the direction from her teachers, and the security of knowing what was expected of her; but most of all she missed chatting in the common room with her friends, falling asleep with Harry in front of the fireplace and fixing Ron’s abhorrent essays.

She smoothed her face with her hands-- that was enough of that.

Hermione pushed the goat’s nuzzling head away and went back inside. It was the weekend, so the pub was at it’s busiest-- there had to be at least six people milling around the shoddy room, seven if you included her. Practically a full house, by their standards. Although most of them hid their face from view, Hermione was getting quite skilled at recognizing the regulars.

The wide woman nursing a firewhisky at the bar was a smuggler and a potioneer. Hermione often saw her pass stoppered flasks and opaque bottles under the table, and her patrons always paid in gold. The two men lounging in faded orange cloaks seemed to come in every friday. They never bought anything, seeming only to come to whisper furtively with Aberforth before leaving angry. Order members, she presumed.

And in the corner sat the tall, strange man who had placed his hand on her his last visit. He entered with a ‘friend’, just as he had last time-- this one had a slight figure, and she noticed the winking shine of patent school shoes as they peeked out from beneath his robes.

The tall man felt her eyes, and turned his head to stare. She looked quickly away, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

 

 

 

Sirius parted from Remus with a jaunty wave. He turned back and pulled his scarf over his red nose, burrowing his hands deep into the depths of his robes. If only Remus had reminded him to bring along gloves as well. Ah, well. He trudged through the snow, crusty and old, and set his sight on the Hog’s Head.

He’d been thinking of that girl, Helen. Not in a creepy way, not the way James used to go about things before he’d stopped being a prick, but in a _normal_ and _healthy_ fashion. There were lots of pretty girls in the world, but she’d also seemed lonely, and he sort of liked the way she’d looked at him that night-- like he was the only person there.  

It wasn’t like he had a crush on her or anything. He was just… _interested_. Maybe even a little concerned for her well being-- what was she doing, looking so depressed in a shitty pub? He’d wanted to talk to James about it, but he’d been busy with Lily and his head-whatever duties. And then there’d been the thing with Reg, and the detention on thursday, and trying out the motorbike, and, well… maybe he did like her a little bit like that-- he was a sucker for damsels, sue him.

Still, Sirius wasn’t going to leave himself wide open for ridicule. He was going to be keeping it to himself for now, thank you very much.

It didn’t take long to reach the inn. He knocked the snow off his boots, made uncomfortable eye-contact with a goat behind the fence, and pushed open the heavy wooden door. It was warm inside, but far from welcoming. There was something different about the atmosphere this time, something heavy and foreboding.  He wondered if he should have waited for Remus after all.

Sirius did a quick scan of the bar and, ah-- there she was. She was just as pretty as he remembered, but her hair was down this time, trailing down the line of her spine. He could only see half her face; she was turned towards the old man from last time, talking or something. The old man saw him first, eyes narrowing a sliver, and Helen turned her head to the source.

She blinked, her eyes widened, and then she walked calmly and quickly into the backroom.

Well, that was encouraging.

Merlin, but if it didn’t feel like everyone on earth was going out of their way to ignore him. Was he red? Ugh, he was. Sirius braced himself, teeth clenched, and took a seat at the bar. He definitely, _definitely_ wasn’t embarrassed, and he wasn’t _angry_ either. He was just a normal bloke, sitting in a shitty pub, and she had probably just forgotten something really important in the back and would be in front of him shortly.

“What d’you want?” The old man asked, more hostilely than the situation warranted.

Unfortunately for him, Sirius was a veteran school boy, long used to unfriendly elders. He flashed him his pearly whites, “I’ll have firewhisky.”

“We don’t have any.”

The lady to his right looked down at her drink --firewhisky, of course-- and to him, a smirk on her face. It was just enough to light the fire under his temper. Eyes narrowed he snapped, “Well then what do you have?”

“Not much.”

“Mead?”

“Gone.”

“Butterbeer?”

“Out."

“ _Water_?”

“Hmm.”

“Is there a problem?” Sirius growled, “Or are you this shit with all of your customers?”

The old man did the absolute worst thing he could have done. He ignored him; turned his back and wandered away, charming a few logs into his fireplace.  “Fine. Fine!” Sirius launched himself away from the bar, a scowl on his face.

 

 

 

Dumbledore had said it was okay, but it didn’t really _feel_ okay. It didn’t feel _right_ , knowing Sirius knew her. Sirius Black was too important to get wrapped up in, he was too ingrained in her possible plans, in the future. 

But his eyes had lit up when he saw her. Sirius wasn’t a perfect person, but she knew him, and she knew that although he could be difficult he was ultimately kind. From the sound of it, he was in an awful mood. He’d given up so much for Harry, before, and he’d always been kind to her… She felt compelled to help.

Hermione peeked out just in time to see his straight back retreating out the door. She followed after him, ignoring Aberforth’s exasperated groan. She blinked in the bright winter light, shielding her eyes and staring down the path, but he was nowhere in sight. Had he run all the way back?

“Helen?”

She whirled around. Sirius was by the goat pen, slouched over the fence. He held a cigarette with one hand, smoke swirling curly-cues in the air, and was petting a goat with the other. He sat up in a rush, turning around and leaning questionably-casually against the fence.

She suddenly realized she had no idea what she wanted to say. “You shouldn’t smoke, you know.”

The startled look fell off his face, a slow smile taking it’s place. “No?”

She colored under his stare. There was something very confident about the way he was looking at her, like he knew something she didn’t. The old Sirius had never looked at her like that. “No… No, it’s very bad for your lungs, you see. And it ages you prematurely."

“Well, we can’t have that.” He dropped the cigarette to the ground and smashed it with the heel of his shoe.

Hermione hadn’t followed him all the way out here to lecture him about his health. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, but she knew it wasn’t _that_. She was… she was going to try and help him, wasn’t she? She cocked her head to look at him. He didn’t look angry anymore, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of concern. “Are you alright? You left in quite a rush. You sounded…”

“Angry?”

“...Yes.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair and chuckled, “Yeah, well. I’ve been in a bit of a mood all day. It’s not your fault.” He opened his mouth and closed it, “ _Not_ that it could have been your fault. It’s just--.” He looked down at his feet and laughed. Hermione didn’t see what he found so funny. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, love.”

“Are you sure?” She needled, “If you’d like I can get you a drink. Aberforth should apologize…”

“It’s fine.”

“No, no it’s not.” Hermione bit her lip to hold in the sigh. This was getting complicated. She shouldn’t have listened to Dumbledore. But she was lonely, and he was familiar. “I’m sorry I ran away when you came in. It wasn’t fair of me. If you’d let me get you a drink, to apologize…” She trailed off.

He smirked. “You really want to buy me a drink, don’t you?”

The way he said it was so self-satisfied and arrogant that for the first time in weeks --maybe even months-- she was actually, truly irritated. “To _apologize_.” She said, mortified.

He laughed again, but this time it sounded like he meant it. It was a much nicer sound. She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the twist of her smile. “Alright, Helen. I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

She motioned for him to lead the way. He sat up from the fence and walked back for the Hog’s Head. He reached his hand out to open the door, but it pulled open from the other side, and out barrelled the thin man from earlier, straight into Sirius’ chest.

“ _Oof_.” Sirius recoiled but held his ground. His attention snapped to his assailant, gray eyes flashing. “Watch where you’re going you--” His jaw dropped and his brows furrowed. The thin man made to bolt, his hood sliding down his head, but Sirius grasped him firmly by the arm and yanked him back. The hood fell, revealing a face Hermione had only seen in photographs.

“Reg?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I didn't post this alongside the first chapter, they were both done. Oh well? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> You might not believe it, but I actually deleted a few of Sirius' "fucks". Someone give the boy a swear jar.


	3. Chapter 3

“I have reasons to believe the ring is already in the Gaunt Shack. It should be safe there for now-- at least until we are closer to acquiring the rest.”

“Yes, I agree.” Hermione’s quill scratched the paper, drawing a neat little line to the note. She traced her finger down the list, a memory refresher. “The cup is in the Lestrange’s vault, or should be soon. The diary is with the Malfoys. The diadem is with us.” The silver diadem twinkled on Dumbledore’s desk, beautiful and dangerous. “And the locket… The locket is...”

“We must wait for the locket.”

Hermione looked up swiftly. Dumbledore’s face was somber, his blue eyes dull and joyless. “Must we?” She said, so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

“I am sorry Miss Granger.” And he really did look as if her were. “If there is another way, one that does not endanger the lives of innocents, than we will find it. Until then we leave it to fate.” He left it at that, not offering any examples, any ideas. If anyone could think this through, surely it would be Dumbledore? But he kept silent.

It was only one boy. Just one boy among thousands. It was for the _greater good_. But Harry had only been one boy, hadn’t he? And look at what she’d done for him.

 

 

 

“Reg?”

Sirius held his brother’s arm and marvelled at how thin it was. When had he gotten so skinny? And so tall-- Merlin, they were practically nose to nose. Regulus was giving him that nasty, punchable look he’d perfected over the years, nose flared and teeth clenched.

“Let me go.” Regulus hissed. He turned his head back towards the open door, frantic, and when his eyes snapped back they looked wild and… worried. “I said let me _go_ , Sirius.”

Sirius didn’t. He had so many questions, and Reg was starting to freak him out. He wasn’t even mad anymore. Fuck, he was making him _anxious_.  “Why were you in there?” He bit out. He doubted he was in there to hit on barmaids.

Regulus tried to yank his arm away again, but he was skin and bones. There was no point.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” It slipped out without a thought. He actually meant it --Honestly, what the fuck was going on with him? Where was he last night?-- but he hadn’t meant for it to come out like _that_. It was just that it was so much, so fast, and things were obviously so wrong. “What are you doing, Reg?” His eyes narrowed, “Are you meeting with De--”

“Shut up, shut _up_!” Regulus’ hand scrambled up his sleeve. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Sirius’ throat.

Sirius’ mouth clamped closed and the color drained from his face. All those years, all those fights, and Reg had never pulled his wand on him. He knew he’d wanted to, would see it in his eyes after he’d catch Sirius and his mates making trouble with the snakes, but he never did. Sirius had been blown off the tapestry, so maybe blood didn’t count for much anymore, but they used to be good together, once upon a time. He thought that had meant something.

“Lower your wand.”

It was Helen, but he didn’t look at her. Just kept looking at his brother-- the dark circles under his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. How long? How long had he looked like this? Did he care? Should he? Did they still…?

“I said lower your wand.”

Regulus cut his eyes to the side, swallowing reflexively. Dry mouth. He always got like this when he was nervous. When he spoke it was croaking and strained. “I’ll lower my wand when he gets out of my way.”

“ _Reg_.”

The determined look left Regulus’ eyes. His lips pressed together, the skin around his mouth turning paper white. He growled, more frustrated than angry, and lowered his wand. “You are not my brother anymore. I want you to stay away from me.”

Sirius let go. Regulus’ shoulder knocked into his as he rushed away, black cloak flapping behind him. He would have kept staring at him for a long time if he didn’t feel a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and looked straight into Helen’s black eyes. She was standing close, really close. There were little freckles on her nose and she smelled nice, like baked bread and rosewater

“Are you alright?”

Oh, fuck. She’d seen all of that.

 

 

 

The bar was nearly empty now. Only the potioneer was left, and she was rummaging in her pockets for coins to pay. When Aberforth saw her enter he nodded, twice, and then went out the back. Order business.

Hermione grabbed the bottle of Ogden’s from behind the bar and poured it into a murky crystal glass with a splash of water. Sirius took a giant swig as soon as he had it in hand, and his face squeezed tight from the burn. She narrowed her eyes-- she didn’t drink, but she’d seen enough of it to know that was a bad idea.

He sighed, satisfied. “How did you know?” He asked. She paled. What did he mean? Know what? She must have made a funny face, because he laughed sympathetically, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Were you listening to me when you holed yourself up back there?”

How did she know he wanted _firewhiskey_. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

He rolled his glass in hand, watching his drink swirl copper and gold. “Don’t be.” He sat there, ruminating, and Hermione began to wonder if she should leave him alone with his thoughts; but then he smiled at her and leaned forward, and suddenly he was someone else, animated and on. “So! I don’t ever remember seeing you at Hogwarts.”

She frowned. She could tell that the scene with his brother weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he wasn’t talking about it. He really should, it would probably make him feel better. But she was the last person to judge, so she smiled tiredly and said, “No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Trust me. I’d have remembered you.”

She shook her head, and her smile strained her cheeks when she lied. “I meant I didn’t attend Hogwarts.”

“No?” He leaned back and took a more savoring sip. “That’s strange. Not many people around here hire a private tutor. Are you a Rowley?” He said, looking like he didn’t much believe that. From his tone she gathered that a Rowley wouldn’t be working in a run down pub.

“No, I grew up in France.”

“France?” His smile split his face, “Quelle surprise. So does that mean you’re an Héléne?”

“It doesn’t matter to me which way you say it. Do you speak French, then?” If he did, she dearly hoped she spoke it better. Hermione’s father had used it around the house in her childhood, and she was nearly fluent, but there was an accent that could be heard by thise with an ear for it.

To her relief, he shook his head. “No, not really. My grand-m _è_ re did her best to cram it into our heads. It never really took with me, but…” He hesitated, a line forming between his brows. He downed the last of his glass and set it on the bar with a thunk. “My brother is fluent. He’s the one you saw, out there. Sorry you had to deal with that. He’s a prick.”

The grin was gone and he was different again. Hermione wondered how many faces he had. The look he was giving her now, intense and bitter and vulnerable, was different but it was also _old_.

She’d seen it’s like before, when she was fifteen going on sixteen, holed up in Grimmald Place with him and a hippogriff. When Sirius was with her and Harry he was cheerful and fun -- perhaps a little _too_ fun-- as if his mood was uplifted by Harry’s very presence. On occasion he’d get angry about one thing or another, or he’d get annoyed by Molly’s nagging. But then there were times, usually after he spoke of Harry’s father and his life _before_ , that he would look off into the distance and she would see a terrible sadness in his eyes.

This look wasn’t quite the same, but it was close, and her heart ached at the memories.

Hermione leaned across the bar and put her hand over his. Vehemently she said,“Don’t say sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Sirius looked at her hand, and she realized how very strange and overly familiar she was being. She blushed and moved to take it away, but his hand turned, so that they were palm to palm, and he clasped them together. When she looked up she found that he was smiling at her, “Thank you. And I don’t think I thanked you for standing up for me, too. You didn’t have to do that. So… you know, thanks.”

She thought about the way Regulus had looked at Sirius, but more importantly, she thought about how he’d looked behind him, at the dark door and beyond. “Maybe I didn’t.” She said softly, “Your brother seemed very frightened by something. I don’t think he wanted to hurt you.”

His teeth clenched and he looked away. “Yeah, maybe.”

Hermione let go over his hand and hesitated, her words caught in her throat. Had the scene with the wand ever happened before? Or had Sirius and Regulus ignored each other until the end of their days? Had her presence already changed things? If she told him, what difference would it make? _Know your limitations_ , Dumbledore had told her. Hermione stood at a crossroad, torn between her head and her heart.

“Your brother, he was meeting with a man. I don’t know who he is, but I don’t think…”

A bell by the stairs began to ring. Someone in one of the rooms needed something.

Sirius was looking at her intensely. “Do you know what they were--?”

“--No.” She cut him off. He looked a little startled. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but I need to get back to work.”

He blinked. “Oh. Okay. I’ll come see you later, then?”

She wondered why he’d want to. Wasn’t Sirius supposed to have a lot of friends? What was he doing with her? And besides, “Isn’t this the last Hogsmeade visit until after Christmas?”

He smirked at her. She would go so far as to call it _devilish_. “I have my ways.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared.

 

 

 

She didn’t say no. She didn’t really said yes either. What she’d said was “You need to value your schoolwork more.”, before trouncing away, dark curls bouncing behind her. But the most important thing was that she didn’t say no, so Sirius was _definitely_ going to visit her next weekend.

Sirius walked down the main street towards Dominic’s. He wasn’t in a bad mood --the hand thing with Helen had moved that along-- but he was definitely unsettled. Regulus had been meeting with someone, hooded and anonymous in a pub infamous for shady business.

It could only be Death Eaters.

Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a bloody idiot. The Death Eater’s had been on everyone’s mind for the last few years. His mum had gone on and on about them, fucking constantly. Orion spinelessly went along with her like he always did, but it had been Reg that had pissed him off. He knew Regulus was a moron about muggles and shite like the rest of his family, but Death Eaters killed people and he just… hadn’t been able to push that through his thick, stupid skull.

He groaned, his breath clouding before him. When was the last time they’d talked? It had to be the summer before his sixth year. Merlin, that was the worst time in his life. Slamming doors, Reg’s newspaper clippings, stinging jinxes, father’s ‘disappointment’, cold food, and his mother’s never ending shrieks. And then that last night, when mum had… And then Reg had...

He fished his cigs out of his pocket, looked at them in his hand, and then shoved them right back.

Mum had done a lot to him, over the years. Small jinxes, little curses. He knew she was mean, but he’d thought there was some sort of _line_. Huh, maybe he was an idiot. One day he’d told her to fuck off, and she’d crucio’d him and locked him in his room. Two days later Regulus unlocked his door, wordlessly shoved his wand and a few galleons into his hand, and went right back into the library. Sirius left for James’ and the rest was history. They hadn’t exchanged two words with each other since then, not until last Thursday.

What was he going to do? Was there anything _to_ do?

There were shouts coming from an alley down the road. Something exciting was going on. The very thought of trouble was enough to save Sirius from his moody death spiral. He rounded the corner and found two snakes… and Peter.

“Stupefy!” A blue light shot out of Sirius’ wand and smacked Mulciber right between his fucking eyes. _Nice_.

He sprinted across the alley entrance and flattened his back to the wall. A lemon yellow spell whizzed past, exploding in a pink crackle of fire on the other side of the street. A group of younger students nearby screamed and ran away. Smart kids. He peeked his head around the corner again-- Peter was standing where he was before, blue eyes blown wide, and Crabbe was five feet away with his glare locked on Sirius and his wand aimed at his head.

Sirius ducked back, a green spell singeing the ends of his hair. His blood was singing and sparking. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he even tried; he was made for this. He ran for the other end of the street, throwing a leg-locking curse behind his back. When he heard the tell-tale thud of Crabbe falling face first onto the ground, he whirled around and aimed his wand towards the roofline.

“Reducto!” Sirius laughed as Crabbe was buried beneath a foot of snow. He plucked his wand off of the ground --dropped when he’d fallen over, probably-- and jogged into the alley. Normally he wasn’t above taunting his victims, but he ignored Crabbe’s muffled yells in favor of checking in on Peter.

“Oh, hey.” He said when he realized there was a random girl standing next to Pete. She was short and a little round, but she had big brown eyes and he sort of liked her hair. She looked like she was around fourth year, but he was shit with ages so that didn’t mean anything. “Did you see that?” He asked enthusiastically.

“Yes!” She squeaked, her round eyes going rounder. “Thank you! Th-they were… You came just in time!”

“I aim to please. You get his wand, Pete?” He nodded towards Mulciber, stone cold on the ground, and wiggled Crabbe’s between his fingers.

“Yeah.” Was Pete’s less than enthusiastic response.

Sirius didn’t expect applause, but what he’d done was fucking brilliant, and he deserved a ‘well done’ at the least. “That was pretty good, huh? Bet they didn’t see that one coming.” He nudged Pete with his shoulder and chucked Crabbe’s wand to the other side of the alley.

Peter just sort of pathetically tossed Mulciber’s aside. “Yeah.”

“It was amazing!” The girl said, hands clasped in front of her like a nun at vigil. She was a much more receptive audience. Sirius decided he liked her. “Is there any way we can thank you?”

“Actually, yeah. You think you could go find a prefect and tell them to unspell these two knobs?” She bobbed her head and made to leave, but he waved his hand out to stop her. “Wait, wait! Don’t tell them who did this, alright? Unless it’s Potter, in which case, please do.”

“Yes, of course!” And just like that she was off like a shot.

Peter, on the other hand, hadn’t budged a bit. He was standing stock still in the shadows with sullen look on his face. Sirius glared at him. Was a thank you really too much to ask for? “What’s eating at you?” He asked snidely, before doing the math in his head and finding the conclusion. “Hey, didn’t you have a date or something?

“I did.” Peter said, “Before you sent her away.”

“Ohhhh! Well, fuck.” He laughed. Sirius knew, academically _,_ that laughing at poor Pete’s shame was the exact wrong thing to do. But he did it anyways, because Peter had been extra annoying lately, and Sirius was nothing if he wasn’t petty.

“Merlin, I’m sorry Pete. I honestly didn’t realize. I’m sure you’ll see her later, though.” He slung his arm over his shoulder and Peter sighed. His mouth was twitching, trying it’s best to form into a semblance of a smile. Sirius almost felt bad. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink to apologize. Now let’s get out of here before--”

“ _Sirius Black_!”

“Yeah, before that.”

 

 

 

Hermione strode down the dust choked hallway and rapped her knuckles on room number five.

“Please come in.”

She did so, entering the room and propping the door open behind her. There was no way she was going to be caught alone with a shady guest in these dirty rooms. She wasn’t expecting much-- some black hooded figure, perhaps, or a woman shrouded in shadows. It was her low expectations that tripped her up.

The man sitting in the rickety chair by the bed was unhooded, and he was ludicrously normal. He was on the far side of thirty, with a firm jaw and a prominent nose. His dark hair was combed smartly out of his face, setting his hooded green eyes off to advantage. He was very clean, and she could even admit that some might find him handsome.

“Good evening, sir.” She said when she’d found herself again. “What was it that you needed?”

“Miss Helen, I am glad to see you.” The man said. “I am afraid I often find Aberforth’s hospitality lacking.”

She knew that voice. Regulus and the Potineer had left, and the men in the orange cloaks were speaking with Aberforth. That left only one guest.

The man stood up to his full height, head and shoulders above her. He took a step forward, and Hermione’s wand hand twitched in her robes. His eyes flashed to her side, not missing a single move. White teeth dim pearls in the half light, the tall man stuck out his hand and said, “I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced. I am Antonin Dolohov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to churn this out before my birthday tomorrow!
> 
> I think this is the first fight scene I've ever written that didn't involve slugging someone in the face. It was interesting to work out, I hope it reads well. Also someone needs to give Hermione a hug because she's stressed as fuck. I get depressed just writing her.
> 
> I don't have a beta tester, so let me know if you see any mistakes. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

The tall man stuck out his hand and said, “I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced. I am Antonin Dolohov.”

Of course he was. How obvious it was, now that she knew. Last time she’d laid eyes on him he’d been cracked and cragged --Azkaban had done him no favors-- but she remembered those eyes. How could she ever forget them? He’d cursed her in the Department of Mysteries, and she’d thought she’d never recover.

“Pleased to meet you.” Hermione said faintly, making an effort not to cringe as he took her hand in his own. Maybe he would think it from disinterest rather than fear, but she knew better than to hope. He didn’t shake her hand but bowed over it instead.

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes. Typical Slytherin pureblood, she knew what he was doing. They didn’t have books on magical manners in Hogwarts, so she’d only done the research recently at Dumbledore’s behest. It was unfairly easy to learn as long is there was someone willing to teach you. Just another hurdle deliberately placed to hinder muggleborns.

She nodded her head, eyes downcast in the French fashion, and quickly drew her hand away. “Did you need something, Mr. Dolohov?”

“Will you not permit me the pleasure of your company?” His smirk was too small to be called a smile, but his eyes glowed with mirth. She didn’t like it at all; she felt as if he were laughing at her.

“I’m afraid I’m busy, sir.” She said cooly. “If you don’t have--”

“If I might ask, what brings you so far from home? I’m well acquainted with a great many people, and I’d never heard of your arrival.” Dolohov spoke gradually, like honey flowing down a comb. He had the air of someone more used to speaking than listening; he _expected_ her to hang on his every word.

“There was no one to tell.” She said carefully.

“No one cared?” He asked, “Is that why you’re working here?”

In another time, perhaps, she would have bristled at the assessment. As things stood, she was merely grateful that he’d come up with his own assumption. Still, it was a biting remark, and she knew she would need to tread carefully. She needed to be _better_ than she was. Her mind cycled through her alibi, her fake history, and all the possibilities it allowed her-- and she thought about Dolohov, and wondered what he wanted to see in her.

Hermione let out a harsh breath and turned her face away. “I suppose.” She glanced back, a fire stoked behind her eyes. “Was that all, sir? Or may I leave?”

Dolohov’s chuckle made her skin crawl. “Some tea, to keep me awake.” He motioned behind him, at a half-written letter on the secretary table. “And your name, perhaps?”

“You already know it.”

He raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t what he really meant, and he could tell she wasn’t stupid-- and she wasn’t, she just needed a moment to think. Would her story hold? Dumbledore said he would take care of it, and she _did_ trust him, at least with this. She said it before she could change her mind. “Héléne Gremillon. I will be back in a moment.”

The name was enough. Eyes alit with recognition he said, “I look forward to it.”

 

 

 

“Mr. Black, are you even listening to me!?”

Sirius let his face look suitably repentant as he nodded, even though James had once said his sad face made him look more constipated than contrite. Minnie glared but kept talking, in one ear and out the other, and Sirius felt his eyes slowly wander away from her, towards anything _but_ her.

There was a small crowd starting to form, too far to hear anything. He hadn’t meant for this to become a Big Thing, but here he was, once again the center of attention. He’d brag about it later, maybe. A prefect was quickly carting off Mulciber with a featherweight charm and Crabbe, blue with chill, had been dug out of the snow pile and was now slowly but surely being unspelled.

Professor Tatters was ruffling the snow out of Crabbe’s hair with shaking, veiny hands-- Crabbe, still half-paralyzed, was in no position to object. “Oh, dear, oh, dear… You poor boy… Oh, dear...” Tatters’ face was sunken with despair, but it nearly always looked like that, so Sirius didn’t give it more than a thought… Which was still one more than he was giving to Minnie while she ranted before--

“--the next two weeks!”

“Wait, what?”

"I thought that would get your attention." Minerva said dryly before she began to stride away, straight-backed and proud.

"Wait. You mean of detention? _Wait_! Minnie! You don't mean that!" Sirius hollered. He jogged after her- even with his long legs, it was a struggle to keep up with her quick strides.

The glare she shot him was absolutely scathing, "I most certainly did, and I most certainly do. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Black, for it is that last you will have without me for a _long_ time.

There were a lot of things he could’ve said to that, some of them remarkably clever, but he was trying to be good, damn it, so he kept them to himself. “We’re both adults here, can’t we negotiate? How about one out of two, yeah? That sounds fair.”

“Is that what you would prefer?” She asked, trudging through the snow like a hardy Icelandic pony. He was dying, but at least they were zooming too fast for anyone to hear his shame.

“ _Yes_.”

“Then I shall see you every night for the next two weeks, as well as the week after Christmas. Good day, Mr. Black.”

Sirius ran a hand raggedly through his hair and groaned, trying desperately to hold in his frustration. He wasn’t doing a very good job. But it was so stupid! So he’d gotten in a duel with a pair of baby Death Eaters? Big deal. They got into duels all the time! Granted, they usually didn’t get caught… But even compared to when he had, this was excessive!

In his moment of weakness, she’d already outpaced him by several feet and he had to run to catch up. “But why!?” He bellowed

She stopped where she stood, peering at him peculiarly through her spectacles. “Because they were unprovoked. Because you buried him under snow and he could have _suffocated_ . Because _you do not listen_.” Quieter and fiercer, so no one but him could hear she said, “Because you are not like them, and I know you can do better.” She looked behind him and said sharply, “Mr. Potter! I would appreciate it if you took your friend off my heels.”

He could hear James’ enthusiastic “Yes, ma’am!” from across the street.

“Mr. Black, if I say goodbye to you, will it stick this time?”

Sirius nodded, visibly deflated. She left in as big of a hurry as always.

James clasped him on the shoulder and spun him around. Lily was at his side, looking very leery and a little amused. The wide grin slipped off James’ face when he saw how sullen he looked. He rubber-necked down the road, at where McGonagall had disappeared, and then back to him. “What’s got your knickers all up in a twist?”

“I think the better question is what doesn’t.” Lily cocked her head, “Can’t go a whole day without making trouble, Black?”

“No.” Sirius said this so petulantly even he had to laugh. “My handlers are gone. I had to find _something_ to do.” He frowned, looking between his best friend and his sort of friend. Would it…? Should he…? “Actually, if you two aren’t busy...”

 

 

 

She stumbled down the stairs, wondering about time and fate. Was it luck, that made this happen? Or malchance? No, no, she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t either of them, that wasn’t how things worked! There was no future that you didn’t make. Hermione needed to remember that. She was _relying_ on that.

Down in the pub, Aberforth was back in his usual place, and the orange cloaked men were leaning haphazardly on the furniture. One of them had his hood down, and his thistly red beard burned brightly in the noon light. He turned his head sharply when he heard her enter, blue eyes narrowed to a sliver. She knew who he was in an instant. He looked _just_ like Charlie, but she had no energy left to think about it.

“Calm down, man. It’s just Helen.” Aberforth muttered. To her, he said, “What were you doing up there? You’d think you didn’t know how to watch a bar.”

“The man staying in the last room wanted tea.”

His face turned to stone. “I’ll bring it to him.”

Hermione shook her head, “No, don’t. It will only take me a minute.”

He snorted. “Fat chance. He wants something, and I’m not in the mood to let him have it.”

She bit her lip, looking suspiciously at the four corners of the room. Should she say something? Could he be listening? Would it be more strange if she cast a silencing charm? Even just standing there, quiet and apprehensive, suddenly felt incriminating. She wasn’t meant for things like this, she really wasn’t.

Unprovoked, the uncloaked man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. She tripped forward, eyes wide, but she’d spent too much of her life on the run to scream.

The still cloaked man tipped his head back, robe falling, and made a long-suffering noise. “Gid, you git. Sorry about that, miss, I don’t know why I let him out of the house. Anyways, you were just on the edge of the muffling charm. What did you want to say?”

She sighed in relief, “I was just going to say that it might look suspicious if you were to go up instead. I don’t want him to make any assumptions.”

Aberforth harrumphed, “It won’t look suspicious, not the way I’ll go about it.”

“But--”

“Leave it be, Helen.”

Hermione’s face instantly soured. He meant well, she knew he did, but she was a grown adult, and she’d been making life or death decisions for herself since she was twelve years old. “You don’t understand--”

“Did my brother put you up to this?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said did my brother tell you to do this?”

He was treating her as if she were a naughty child. She glared, “No, but--”

“I didn’t think so. I told him I’d give you shelter, somewhere nearby that he could keep an eye on you. I _didn’t_ say I’d let you spy in my pub. Now stay here. I’ll be right back.” He went back into the kitchen, leaving her alone with the twins.

“Blimey. He wasn’t even yelling at me, and I’m shaking in my boots.” The man pulled his hood down the whole way and smiled nicely at her. He looked just like his brother, with broad cheekbones and heavy red brows. He had no beard, but he made up for it with longer hair, knotted at the base of his neck. He, too, had familiar eyes, kind like another she’d once known-- it hurt her a little to look at them.

“I don’t like being cut-off.” She said peevishly, glowering at the kitchen door. She hated being underestimated, as well. And more than that she hated feeling like she was _missing_ something.

“Don’t think anyone does. The name’s Fabian, by the way, and that ugly sod over there’s my brother Gideon.” The aforementioned sod rolled his eyes and pulled up his cloak, hiding his face from view. “You’re Helen, right? Surprised we’ve never met before.”

“I’ve seen you every Friday for the last month and more.” She pointed out.

He laughed, booming and clear. “So you have! Guess the cloaks give it away. Didn’t know who you were until just recently, though.”

No one told her who _they_ were. No one had ever said anything about having an eye on her, either. In the past month, no one had told her much of _anything_. But then, she’d only been talking to Dumbledore, hadn’t she? Holed up in his office in the late night hours, planning and planning. She hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone else, hadn’t needed to.

Hermione was suddenly filled with the desire to do something, anything.

Aberforth came out, a tarnished silver tea tray bobbing behind him. On the tray was a strange mix of things-- a chipped mug, an ancient floral teapot, and the cracked creamer that Hermione used for her own evening tea. When he realized the Prewett’s were still lazing around he shot them a nasty glare and said, “What are you louts still doing here? I’m sick of looking at you. Go back to where you came from.”

 

 

 

They were busy, but Sirius looked like shit, so they pretended they weren’t.

The trio got hot chocolates and butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, taking a table next to the fire. After the less than stellar customer service at the Hog’s Head, Sirius was really appreciating the warm atmosphere, and while he thought he preferred Helen to Rosmerta, there was no denying the witch’s bountiful _charms_.

It only took ten minutes to explain what he’d been up to that day, and another five to catch Lily up to speed with the Regulus situation. It was sort of funny, in a sick way, how easily summed up his problems were.

“I still can’t believe you just left Pete there.” James said, his lips fuzzy with foam. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and smiled bashfully at Lily’s clucking. “You steal his bird and then leave him hanging. Ice cold, Sirius.”

He laughed. “I didn’t steal his girl. I sent her off to find someone-- you, in fact. And it isn’t my fault he’s slower than shit.”

Lily took a dip sip of her chocolate and rolled her eyes, “I swear, you two are like goldfish. Your brother, Sirius. What are you going to do about him?”

Sirius leaned back and rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful and bothered. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” He’d just dribbled out everything that was on his mind, and though he was feeling better, he still didn’t see a real way to fix it. In all honesty, thinking about it was stressful. He’d rather drink with his mates and fuck around. 

“Nothing?” Lily looked at him like he’d grown a third head. “But he’s your brother.”

“What am I supposed to do? He told me to leave him alone.”

“But you’ve got to do something to help! Don’t you love him?”

He opened his mouth, considered the situation for once in his life, and then snapped it shut. Merlin, this girl really knew how to find the heart of the situation, didn’t she? Find it and then rip it out of his fucking chest. Did he love his brother? What sort of question was that? Fuck.

James, sensing danger, leaped into the defensive. “It’s more complicated than that, Lily. Besides, you don’t get along with your sister, either.”

“That’s beside the point, James. My sister isn’t a _terrorist_.”

“Terrorist.” James said the word consideringly, “That’s a great word, very colorful. Is it a muggle one?”

“Focus, James!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, “We need to figure out a way to help him. Why aren’t you two taking this seriously?”

The two boys stared sullenly into their drinks, into the fire, anywhere but each other. After a while, James realized Sirius wasn’t willing to add to the conversation and Lily looked a hair too irritated for comfort. “We are, Lils. He is. It’s just… you can’t really change people, you know?"

It was Lily’s turn to look down. She tugged pensively on the tip of her braid, deep thoughts shifting shadows behind her eyes. “I know you’re right, but… _You_ changed, James. You’re nothing like you were when we were kids. You’re different than you were just last year. And so am I! What’s to say Regulus isn’t either?”

She was like a dog with a bone. He should have waited to talk about this. Confiding in Lily was a terrible idea, the absolute worst. Even Remus was better-- at least he knew when to let it go. Sirius threw his head back against the chair and glared angrily at the ceiling-- if he dared glare at Lily, James would castrate him in the night. “It’s not the same, Lily. James _wanted_ to change.”

“Doesn’t he?”

Whoosh. There went his self-control. His head clicked forward so he could scowl at her and it was all her fault. “Doesn’t he _what_?”

She leaned forward, properly impassioned now. “Sirius, he’s reaching out to you!”

“Yeah, he’s reaching out to me. With his _wand_. Did you forget that part? Because I didn’t. I also didn’t forget the part where he told me he wasn’t my brother anymore and to stay away!”

Lily tightly clasped her hands before her and gave him that overly-concerned and determined look that never failed to fill him with dread. “I know, Sirius! But don’t you remember what the girl at the pub said? She said he seemed scared. Maybe he just doesn’t want to get you involved? Maybe he thinks it’s his fault that he’s gotten mixed up in… in whatever he’s mixed up in!”

Well, that… Wasn’t the stupidest idea. He sat up and leaned on his elbows, thinking it over. It was sort of melodramatic, but Regulus was a melodramatic guy so it was definitely plausible. And that whiplash between asking to meet him in private and then literally shoving him away the next day was super suspect. But still...

“It does sort of make sense.” James admitted.

“I thought you were on my side.” He snapped.

“There are no sides, Sirius!” Lily said with exasperation.

James drank deeply from his mug and made the wise decision not to comment.

“You don’t understand. It’s _Regulus_. He thinks these guys have the right idea. I mean, bloody hell, he’d cut out the stories from the prophet and read them over and over like a loon. He and mum would-- He’s not… He’s not like me.”

“Won’t you regret it if you don’t find out?”

Sirius buried his face in his arms. “Fuck, Lily, you’re killing me.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just--”

“Trying to help. Yeah, I know.” He sighs. “You’re right. I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll even do something about it. But not now. I’m tired of talking about it.”

James perked up in his chair. “Good idea. Let’s talk about that girl at the pub instead. Helen, right? You better write to her because she’s definitely in love with you.”

Lily shoved his shoulder. James laughed, but Sirius saw him softly rub the sore spot afterward. “Stop that, she was just being kind. But I agree, you should definitely write her. I think she knows more than she’s letting on. You should strike while the anvil is still hot.”

Sirius made an ungodly noise. “ _Lily_.”

“I know, I know! I’m done!”

 

 

 

It was strange, trying to sleep when a murderer was down the hall.

Dolohov was gone the next morning before dawn. He left a few sickles on the bedside table, and she gave them to Aberforth. He scowled at the money, and she decided then and there to keep the rest a secret. Out of courtesy, she tells Aberforth that she doesn’t think Dolohov will be back again.

That night she pulled the charmed galleon out of her beaded bag and changed the date for next Friday. There was only one other of it’s kind in this time, and it belonged to Dumbledore. Into the bag, she hid the note Dolohov left on the pillow, and the watch she’d found in the corner of the secretary desk.

_Mlle Gremillon,_

_I am sorry I missed you last night. If ever you find yourself needing friends in this new place, do not hesitate to contact me._

_A. Dolohov_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man crashes two dates in less than an hour, sets new record.


	5. Chapter 5

“...But then I got to thinking, there’s no real good way to put it, you know? ‘Oh, don’t worry love, I can see you every fourth Saturday along with all the other school kiddies.’ Not really impressive, is it?”

“Surely you have friends to discuss this with, Mr. Black?” McGonagall said.

Sirius slumped forward on his desk, akimbo arms smearing the lines on his parchment. Peter was hopeless, James practically stalked Lily, and Remus already told him to leave it alone. “Like I’d take advice from that lot.” He sighed  and plucked morosely at the hem of his sleeve.

McGonagall said nothing, but her non-answer could easily be taken for agreement.

They sat in a minute of boring silence. McGonagall didn’t say anything about him continuing with his lines, probably relieved that he’d stopped talking. But then he had a moment of insight and suddenly sat up, inkwell tipping in the flurry-- McGonagall wordlessly cast a stasis charm to stop it from staining her new walnut desks. “Hey, Minnie, you’re sort of a girl, aren’t you? What do you think?”

Her face scrunched at that, and for a moment and a half he wondered if she was going to give him _more_ detentions, probably with someone else this time. But then she let out a great gust of air and asked with great reluctance, “Does this young woman enjoy your company?”

He pursed his lips and canted his hand from side to side, “Mmmm… Don’t think she _doesn’t_. We haven’t really spoken much.”

“Well, then. I assume she already knows you’re a student, so you needn’t bring it up. If you converse with her more, preferably outside her place of work, she can decide for herself what she thinks about the situation. Perhaps you should write to her and ask if she’d like to see you during your holiday.”

“So… You’re saying I should talk to her more.”

“ _Yes_ , Sirius.” She said sharply, her patience close to tearing.

Sirius leaned back, rebelliously balancing his chair on two legs. “Hmm, sound advice. Very practical, very to the point. I like it.” He grinned lasciviously at her, “You know, I think I have a thing for older women. I’m pretty sure I know where it came from....”

“We are done here, Mr. Black!” Minnie looked close to popping her cork. He wondered how close he was to the edge.

“I thought we were just getting started?”

“ _Out_.” Ah, there it was.

He was up and out of the classroom faster than you could say ‘grumpy grindylows grab great gams’. Sirius didn’t plan on being let out of detention early on a Saturday night, but he did plan on taking full advantage of the situation. There was a saying about this, wasn’t there? Something about gift thestrals and putting your hand in their mouths?

“It’s horses, Sirius.” Remus said as he unlocked James’ trunk and pulled out the invisibility cloak. It shimmered as it slithered out, gaudy and glorious. “And you don’t put your hand in their mouths unless you plan on being bitten.”

“Right, right.” Something shiny caught his eye, nestled in a knot of red-gold ties. “Hey, what’s tha--”

Remus caught his hand and batted it away, his eyes creased with a fond but exasperated smile. “That’s none of your business. You realize this is why James doesn’t let you have a key, don’t you?”

 

 

The fat fence left behind three empty flagons, a plate of peanut shells, and a half eaten bowl of split pea soup. How _did_ the man put it all away?

Hermione piled it all onto her tray and set it trailing behind her with a muttered charm. It astounded her sometimes, how easy this job was. More than that, it unnerved her how quickly she was becoming used to the simple routine. The busyness kept most of her mind occupied, but still, no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t quite shake the skittery shudder under her skin.

She felt more present than she had in months, but she still didn’t feel _safe_.

“He say what you wanted to hear?” Aberforth asked as she passed him by.

She shot a dirty look at the dirty dishes floating before her, and tried and failed not to growl in exasperation. “You know he didn’t.” She muttered. Hermione didn’t even bother asking how he knew she’d visited Dumbledore last night. Aberforth knew everything that happened in his pub. It hadn’t been annoying until now.

“He’s got the right of it, for once.”

“Oh, _please_ .” She grabbed the glasses off the tray and slammed them onto the counter. Hermione surveyed the room, empty except for a large man snoring by the window, and turned to to look at him with narrowed eyes and twisted lips. Harshly she whispered, “I’m not _useless_ , you know.”

“Never said you were. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t say you could.” He looked at her with his bushy brows drawn, thoughtful and considering. Hermione wondered if he was finally going to ask her why she was here. Instead, he asked,  “Were you always this mouthy?”

“I am not mouthy, I am irritated. You shouldn’t… shouldn't _invalidate_ my feelings like that!”

Aberforth snorted like he didn’t much believe her, and more than that he seemed a little amused by her outburst. Under any other circumstances this would have only served to irritate her further, but she’d been boiling all day and was quickly growing tired of it.

Hermione’s turned away from him, shoulders slumped. It was exhausting, being so wired all the time. How had she managed it before?

Aberforth sighed and ran a hand through his stringy hair, floundering for something to say. She almost felt bad-- he was a man who barely understood his own feelings, let alone that of a lost girl. “No one thinks you’re useless.” He grouched.

She flung her hands up, and the tray fell out of the air and clattered onto the floor The man at the window shot up, blearily blinking in the candle light. Aberforth wasn’t why she was angry, but he was here, so she snarled and asked, “Then why am I _here_?”

Aberforth stared at her like she was a loon.

Hermione’s face fell, her heart dropped. What was she doing? “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so very tired, you see.” She said quickly, plucking the tray off the floor and backing away. She turned to run before he could say anything, sliding into the backroom like a coward.

Last night had been a failure.

Dumbledore had once entrusted her with the most important mission of all-- Harry’s life, and in turn, the lives of each and every witch and wizard and Britain. She was sixteen and still in school, but he’d known she was capable, had told her she was the only one he believed could succeed. Now at nineteen, and with thirty years between them, she was allowed nothing, relegated to late night talks and _bar duty._

He’d had so many reasons: Hermione was a valuable strategist. His Order Members were less suspicious and more suitable for the missions. Hermione was too important to lose in the field. Hermione knew too much to risk capture.

The reasons were real and relevant. But there was a point he’d left unsaid, and she knew it was more important than the rest: Hermione had failed.

She should thank her lucky stars Dumbledore believed in second chances.

 

 

It was really freeing, being invisible. Sirius couldn’t lie, he loved attention, but people were so much more interesting when they weren’t being all self-conscious about your presence.

He’d had seen some pretty fascinating stuff in his days. Things got pretty juicy after dark-- blow out break ups and midnight confessions. There was lots of snogging, often between people you wouldn’t expect; some late night duels, usually involving some poncy snakes too good to duke it out in the dungeons; there were the expected amount of crying girls, of course, and a surprising amount of crying boys.

There’d been some god awful things, as well. Late last year Remus wandered up from a late night snack and found Mary, stone still and stunned, pinned up against the wall by Mulciber. Fuck, Sirius got so angry just thinking about it. He wished he _had_ suffocated Mulciber in the snow last week, that disgusting shitbag…

It was while he was slinking down the fourth floor corridor, contemplating murder and admiring the sleeping portraits, that he heard the footsteps. Sirius briefly hoped he was about to see something good, but it was more than likely just prefects doing their daily march, so he hopped onto a window ledge and tucked his feet up like an owl on a perch.

“...I don’t know, Avery.”

It was Regulus, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?

He was strolling down the hall with Avery and Pucey, their heads leaned together suggestively with a piece of parchment between them. Sirius scowled even though no one could see him. He could smell trouble from a mile away, and this little scene absolutely _reeked_. Wasn’t Pucey a prefect or something? Sirius sort of recalled Lily complaining about him every so often-- she busted him for taking points for being base-born, or some other sort of fuckery.

“Well, someone has to know.” Pucey said pompously. He tore the parchment from Avery’s hand and walked towards the moonlight, towards _Sirius_.

He wandered closer, closer. If he’d gone an inch further Sirius could have reached out and strangled him. Pucey leaned the parchment this way and that, trying to read it in the dark, and Sirius’ eyes strained from trying sneak a look at it.

“I can see it from here.” Pucey looked through him and the window, at the grounds below. Sirius didn’t look back, for fear that they’d hear the slip of the cloak sliding over his hair, but he knew they were facing south, towards the whomping willow. Pucey looked down at his hands again and grimaced, “Merlin, Black, your handwriting is awful.”

Why did that feel so personal?

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t have much to say to that. He walked forward and leaned against the window, staring out at the silver soaked scene beyond. “Over there.” Regulus said quietly. He pointed to somewhere in the distance, and Sirius, wide eyed, invisible and _terrified_ , was forced to lean back to avoid an unfortunate collision.

“What, that haunted house?” Avery asked. His voice was louder than the rest, and it reverberated off the stone walls. A few of the portraits rustled in their sleep.

“Quiet.” Pucey hissed.

“Sorry…”

“It’s not haunted.” Regulus said. His friends looked at him askance, but he offered no explanation. Sirius wanted to know how he knew that, too. Fucking Snape...

“It should do.” Pucey acceded, “Will you tell him?”

Regulus’ lip tightened in thought, perhaps in memory. A moment’s hesitation and then, “I’ll have to meet him somewhere else. But yes, I will.”

It was a strange answer, but it satisfied. They all stepped away from the window and wandered a ways down the hall. Sirius let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It wasn’t loud, but he’d always had pretty shitty luck with these sorts of things. Regulus stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look back at the window with narrowed eyes.

“What is it?” Avery asked, a nervous hitch creeping into his voice.

Sirius prayed to any god that was listening. Someone out there was on his side, because Regulus shook his head started for the stairs again. “It’s nothing.”

Sirius watched them go, waiting long until they were out of sight to hop off the ledge. He didn’t know quite what he’d heard, but he thought it might be important. He placed a hand on his heart, willing it to stop rioting in his chest. Strike the ‘might’, it _was_ important. Far too important to comfortably keep it in mind.

Fuck, his stomach was in knots. He needed a pick me up. Luckily, he had something in mind.

 

 

Hermione was in her room at the Hog’s Head, curled into her wobbly chair with a flickering candle on the windowsill. She’d opened the window a crack, letting the winter’s chill creep over her room and into her bones. She stared listlessly at her tidy, impersonal room-- the narrow cot with the faded floral quilt, the three legged table with the water basin with the broken handle, the sticky-stuck door and the dead holly wreath hung above it. She’d been here for weeks, but none of it felt like it really belonged to her.

She leaned her head against the glass and thought about everything and nothing. Hanging from her hand was the letter from Dolhov.

She’d meant to tell Dumbledore last night. But she hadn’t. They’d spent so much time speaking of other things, you see, there hadn’t been enough time. And he’d said she wasn’t to take part in any missions, hadn’t he? So there was really no point in bringing it up and--

\--and she was trying so very hard not to be ‘up to something’ but it wasn’t _working_ . Why couldn’t she just be good and do what she was told? Why was she so _bad_ at this?

There was a loud _crack!_ at her window and she jumped in her seat, the letter wafting to the floor on the back of a draft. She sat up very quickly, snatching her wand from her arm holster and flattening herself to the wall. Hermione was on high alert, her breath coming in quick spurts, when something flew through the crack in her window and tumbled onto the floor.

Was that a rock?

“Helen!”

Was that _Sirius_?

She quietly crept to the window and opened it as far as it could go. She was quite sure she’d heard Sirius’ voice, but her wand was still in hand, and she was ready for anything. Her stomach slunk low and heavy as she stared into the night. No one was there. What kind of trap…?

There was a laugh and a whoosh of fabric, and suddenly Sirius’ disembodied head was floating below her. The dark of the moon cast his face in black and white, but she could see him clearly enough to say for certain it was him. He was grinning from ear to ear, a wild look in his eyes. “Hello.” His voice was harshened by a failed attempt at whispering.

Hermione blinked dazedly at him. “Hello?” Her night had taken such a turn. She was having some difficulties processing what was going on.

“I did my homework this morning.” Sirius said. His eyes were twinkling so hard she couldn’t have taken it for anything but teasing.

“Did you really?” She asked disbelievingly.

“Well, no… But I did most of it. And tomorrow is Sunday, you know? I’ll be fine.” He cocked his head-- the movement looked very strange without a body to cock it on. “Are you going to come down here? My neck is starting to hurt.”

She looked behind her at the door, and envisioned the hallway and Aberforth’s room beyond it. It was only ten, he probably hadn’t even gone to bed yet… Just thinking about it hardened her resolve. For god’s sake, she was an adult woman, not a teenage girl sneaking past her sleeping father. She turned back, and her gaze caught on the letter on the floor. _Dolohov_. She leaned out the window and said, “I’ll come down. I have something to say to you.”

“Oh, great, so do I.” The cloak slipped off his shoulders as he lifted his arms towards her.

Her mouth fell open in shock. “I am not jumping down!” She said firmly.

“I’ll catch you!” He said cheerfully.

“I’ll _break_ you. Just… wait a moment, will you?"

Hermione shut the window and whirled around, ignoring Sirius’ muffled offer to levitate her with magic. She trusted his wand even less than she trusted gravity. Grabbing her red robe off the hook, she padded through the hall and down the stairs. Aberforth was turned away from the landing, hunched over a table and miserly counting the day’s profits. She did _not_ sneak by him, but if her feet were more silent than usual as she crossed the room, it was not by design.

Once outside, the cold took her breath away.

She saw him before he saw her. Sirius was around the building, propped up against the wall beneath her window, hands in his pockets and the cloak thrown over his shoulder. The candle still glowed behind the glass, shining the top of his head with a golden sheen. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and she thought it made him look much older. Sadder, too.

“Sirius?”

He sat up straight, smile instant, the creases at his eyes chasing the shadows away. “Took the scenic route, did you?” He looked from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and added “Red looks good on you, by the way.”

It took her far too long to realize that it was a smirk on his face, not a smile, and that wasn’t a look but a once-over. Hermione curled her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. He had the audacity to laugh. “What did you want, Sirius?” She asked tolerantly.

“To see you.” He said simply.

Hermione blushed. Of course she did, how could she not? But it was Sirius, and she knew he was a terrible flirt. She bit her cheek and looked away, bundling up everything that throw-away sentence made her feel and stuffing it under unimportant thoughts. It felt nice, to be wanted, but he didn’t really mean it.

She took a steady breath before she turned back. She was proud of how steady her voice was when she said, “I’m sure that’s not all.”

He laughed. “You’re right, it’s not. I wanted to ask you something”

The light went off above her head. She wasn’t here to flirt, she was here for a _reason_. “About your brother?”

His smile froze; his mouth opened and closed, searching for something to say. He looked away, “No? I don’t know. What else is there to say about that?”

“I found out who he was talking to.” The words rushed out of her mouth, tumbling over one another in their haste. She really shouldn’t have said anything, but she was ‘up to something’, there was simply no denying it, and the sooner she got it all out the sooner it would be too late to take it back.

His face twisted grotesquely, one moment a grimace and the next a smile, and Hermione realized how deceiving the dark could be. Was that a manic gleam in his eyes or a tired sheen? “Who was it?” He asked.

“Antonin Dolohov.”

“A Death Eater.”

“I know.”

Sirius sighed restlessly, his hands grasping at his hair and covering his ears. He laughed, self consciously she thought, and asked her, “I don’t suppose they have Death Eaters in France?”

“No.” She said quietly-- a truth and a lie.

“Not really the best time to take the grand tour, is it?” He was only half joking, she realized. It was quip to cut the tension, but it was a question as well, as long as she was willing to answer. Really, he was being quite polite.

“No, it isn’t. But I can’t really go back.” She tried to laugh, but the sound strangled in her throat.

“Hmm. I know how that is.”

Oh, Sirius. He did, didn’t he? “I’m sorry.” Hermione said unthinkingly.

“Don’t be.” He scuffed the snow with his toe and snorted. “Anyways, I didn’t come here to make you sad. I was wondering if we could meet somewhere that wasn’t your place of work? I’ll be out of school soon, so I’m free whenever.”

“I don’t know.” She said, and it was the honest truth. She’d never gone anywhere that wasn’t the Hog’s Head or Hogwarts.

Sirius made a strange face, his head tilted to the side. “Is that an ‘I don’t know so no’ or and ‘I don’t know so maybe’?”

“Maybe.” She clarified.

“Alright.” He grinned and shucked the invisibility cloak over his shoulders. “Those aren’t the worst odds. I’ll take it. I wish I could stay longer but I’ve got to bring this old rag back. It’s owner gets twitchy if I have it for more than an hour. I’ll write you, yeah?”

They said their goodbyes, and Sirius disappeared into the black. Hermione walked her numb feet through the snow and into the pub. Aberforth was waiting for her inside, a brown bottle in hand.

“Am I allowed to leave?” She asked him.

  
Aberforth picked at his drink, peeling the paper label. “I don’t know.” He admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I forget I'm not writing a romantic comedy. Honestly, who throws rocks at windows anymore?


	6. Chapter 6

"Of course you can, Ms. Gremillon. I'm sorry you thought you even had to ask."

Hermione's hands coiled in her lap, fingers writhing for something to hold on to. "I just thought… I don't know what I thought. Thank you, Professor."

"You needn't thank me. After all, I should be the one thanking you." Dumbledore smiled, his own hands clasped serenely on his desk. "Ah- and in case we do not meet again for some time, I wish you a very happy Christmas, and an interesting new year."

Hermione made the long trek back through the passage and sat herself on her bed. Carefully, quietly, she lowered herself to the ground and pried up one the floorboards. Inside was a cleanly rolled bundle of correspondence. She picked apart the string and fingered the smooth vellum of her first letter, reading over the last line for what felt like the thousandth time. She looked at the signature again and resisted the urge to pull out her hair. Why must she make things so complicated for herself?

In the end she wrote back with a time, a place, some formal well wishes and a very reasonable request. She'd owl it in the morning.

And the second letter? She burned it.

 

 

 

"You're not nervous, are you?"

"What? Me? No, piss off."

Remus drank a swig of something hidden up his sleeve, a smirk on his face and a cheeky light in his eyes. "Because you know, there's nothing to be ashamed of if you are."

"Yeah, well we can't all be sensitive fuckers like you, can we Moony?"

"Suppose not. Guess you don't need a dram of this then." He continued, shoving open his knapsack and moving to set it inside. Sirius shot out his own hands, grabbing Remus' wrist with one and confiscating his flask with the other. He took a quick swig before anyone could protest and threw it back into the bag.

"Oh yeah, cool as a cucumber. Never seen a more confident man." James joked. Lily rolled her eyes at that.

Remus didn't even bother to laugh, the tosser. "Stay warm, Black." He said in farewell, moving out of the streets and into a bookstore, Lily, James and Peter sending sniggering glances behind him.

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered, cramming his cold hands into this pockets and leaning against a sagging brick wall.

He'd been teased a bit when he'd told the lot he was meeting someone at the bookstore. Whatever. Helen'd been reading that first night he'd met her, and she was all up on his neck about the grades thing- literally told him she wouldn't meet with him until he had half of his hols homework done. Sirius figured it was just her 'older woman' guilt manifesting itself in weird ways, and also, _maybe_ , she was trying to get rid of him or something.

He could deal with it. Besides, it felt strangely nice to have nearly everything finished in less than a week. And she said she knew he could, and, well, he _could_.

Sirius pulled his hands out into the open and blew cloudy breaths into his cupped palms. He scanned the long street stretched out before him, watching the thin crowd skitter about with their heads hanging low. It was nearly Christmas and it was _underwhelming_. To compare what was before him to the bustle of yester years- like bone soup to beef stew.

Even the people looked unsubstantial, gray and gaunt. Too depressing for words. Sirius made a game out of trying to catch a glimpse of who was hidden beneath the hoods. The hunched cloak with the bedraggled lace could be his ailing Aunt Cassie; the purple must be one of the Prewett's; and the slim figure in the faded black robe...

"Oh."

His eyes focused on what was before him, his musings scattering in the wind. There she was- looking at him, looking at her. The corners of Sirius' mouth quirked quickly into a grin. "You're early. Eager to see me, were you?"

Helen's nose crinkled before the whole sentence had even left his mouth, "You got here before me." Her eyes darted to her wrist. "And I'm right on time."

"Well, I was _very_ eager to see-"

"So help me, I will turn around and go right back where I came from."

"Right, right." He said between huffs of laughter. He almost tacked on a sorry at the end, but there really wasn't anything to apologize for. Right? Right. "The bookstore is right beside us. Have you ever been?"

"Not yet, no."

"Suppose you'd like to shop the stacks theee-" He recalled with a sudden clarity that was probably readily available on his face that all of his friends had just gone in there, "-n ...er, later? It's nearly noon, and you must be famished. I'll buy."

"Oh, thank you, but no. I'm quite capable of paying for myself."

"Nonsense. I'm the one who invited you, thus, I lay down the gold. Sorry, that's just the way it's done. Code of conduct and all that."

"I, well... I'm older. And I have a job."

Sirius' grin was razor sharp. "And I've got an inheritance. Now, the Leakey's got the best pork pies I've ever had. If you're feeling a bit homesick you can close your eyes and pretend it's a pâté en croûte…"

She still seemed a little reticent, but he just wriggled his eyebrows and started walking so she had no choice but to be pulled along by his bountiful charisma. The walk wasn't far, and she settled them down at a table near the entrance. Helen sat down quite stiffly, and if she thought he wouldn't notice that she sat with her back to the wall and her eyes on the door, than she was going to have another think coming.

Sirius classily opted for butterbeer over firewhiskey, and when Helen quietly asked if he minded they share a pork pie he magnanimously conceded. He kept a long line of casual conversation open, asking questions that could be construed as personal if she felt like opening up, but could be easily side stepped if she wasn't (his grandmother's lessons did come in handy _sometimes_ ).

He weaseled out more information than he thought he would. She was a Gremillion, born in Grenoble, her parents had passed and she liked Britain 'quite well' and the Hog's Head 'well enough', but that was all he managed to get before she began to ask him about _himself_. Sirius shrugged his shoulders and answered all of her questions about his school, his house, his friends. He liked to tell stories, and liked the feeling that small smile on her face gave him after he told her a particularly good tale involving James, a mandrake, and the girl's loo.

Everything was turning out so… nice. Easy even. Like an afternoon out with his mates- mates he wanted to snog. He'd almost forgotten why she'd agreed to come in the first place.

Tom brought out their pie, golden brown and steaming, and placed his drink down on the slab. Helen was too busy splitting the crust down the middle with a knife to see the sly, approving wink Tom tossed him. Sirius was so busy riding that high he nearly missed what she'd said next.

"Your brother," Helen began haltingly, "What was he like? Before?"

He blinked a time or two, letting the words rattle between his ears. "...Before…?"

"Well, he… He wasn't always like he is now, was he? I had thought… had _assumed_ that there had been some sort of affection between the two of you, however mercurial, at some point in time."

"Do you always use such big words, or is it only when you're nervous?"

The wide-eyed, deer in the wand light look faded fast. In its place surfaced a glare sharp enough to cut glass and an adorably wrinkled nose that nearly managed to undermine the whole thing. "Do you always use humor to deflect your feelings?"

He grinned. "Yes. Definitely."

Helen rolled her eyes and leaned away, her fist punching indents into her cheek. He expected her to turn around at any second and say something snappy like James, or rant at him like Lily. Remus and Pete just never would have brought it up unless he'd said something about it in the first place and-

-and he'd been thinking this over for a while, going over all the scenarios of who and how and if but Helen _still_ hadn't said anything. She sat there, silently staring out at the snow slushed street past the glass, looking just like she did the first time he saw her. Sensing the weight of his gaze, her eyes flicked back towards him and she offered a small smile, tired and sad, like she wanted him to know she was sorry she'd even asked.

It sort of made him feel like shit.

"I don't know. I suppose." Sirius started quietly, shrugging his shoulders and glancing away. "He was always a bit intense. Stressed, I guess, but he had… He wasn't always good at dealing with things. We never really had much in common, but he used to follow me around a lot when we were young. He…" Sirius floundered, at a loss for what to add. What mattered? What did he even know? Regulus played the piano, he spoke three languages, he was left handed and he preferred jinxes over hexes. All of these things to say, but what he actually managed to get out of his mouth was, "He used to like pomegranates."

Helen's face was caught somewhere on the road between confused and annoyed, and Sirius spat out a self-conscious laugh. "Don't give me that look, I swear I'm going somewhere with this. So once, when we were kids, he put too many of the seeds into his mouth and didn't swallow. I don't really remember why, it was forever ago, and… Well, anyways, they swell up, you know -the seeds- and his cheeks... " He couldn't stop the stupid grin from stretching out his lips, "Like a fucking squirrel. Gods, he was so embarrassed. And he kept refusing to let me help him, just laid there on the settee like some long lost maiden, doing his damndest not to choke."

His reverie was broken by a light hearted laugh. Was that…?

Helen was angled towards him with a soft smile on her face, her eyes lit up from behind. Sirius' heart may or may not have stuttered. "Stubborn, then? And proud?" She asked.

He smirked. "Like a hippogriff."

"I used to know someone like that." The smile faded, but the light stayed.

Sirius' lips twisted into something that probably looked more like a grimace than a grin, but he soldiered on. "Yeah, well, that's Reg. He'd rather make an arse of himself than admit he's fucked up."

She snorted indelicately, "Yes, well, I used to know someone like that as well."

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, staring her down for all he was worth. "Why do you care so much anyways?"

"I... Well, who wouldn't?"

"You see anyone else sitting here?"

"I just thought that… he looked desperate. And then there was what you said, before, about him trying to reach out to you. Your brother is so very young. Too young to give up, especially when there are people who could help him."

Her voice broke near the end, just a little.

"A bit close to home, then?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes flashed and her back snapped straight. It was then that Sirius realized that she hadn't really been looking at him all day, just through him and around him. But now, with her sights set on him, well- if she were a cat she'd have already scratched him. "If you're presuming to tell me that I have- have _given up_ …"

Siris leaned back, held his hands up in defeat, and tried really, really hard to wipe the stupid grin off his face. "No, no, I'd never presume."

"Because I _haven't_."

"Oh, I believe you."

"You're _condescending_ to me, you-!"

He laughed. He really couldn't help it.

Sirius knew for a fact that Sirius + screeching woman never ended well, so no one was more surprised than him when he saw her guilty smile, "I'm sorry." Helen said, wiping tiredly at an eye and deflating into her seat. "I suppose I'm being a little, well…"

"Nah, there's nothing to be sorry about, really. I think we both already know that I'm an arse. Besides, I'd rather you were angry than sad." He stops himself for a moment before soldiering on. "I feel like every time I see you I nearly make your cry."

"Oh, Sirius. It's not your fault."

The way Helen's voice wrapped around his name with such aching tenderness nearly caused Sirius to push out of his chair and leave. The tilt of her head, the way her lashes casted shadows over her eyes, how she looked at him with unquestionable understanding- it was all just a little too much.

He looked away. "Still."

"I'd like to help you with your brother. If you'd let me."

Can I help, she seemed to be saying, when what she really should have been asking was if he needed it at all. He'd been avoiding this particular train of thought for what felt like forever and… and… Did he? Was he? Did… Where… What was he even going to do? Was he doing something?

"So he's involved in something." He said quietly, not quite as a question, but there was a thread of _something_ laced in there.

And of course, she seemed to understand what he was saying, even when he wasn't quite sure himself. "In more than he realizes, I think."

In the end, it wasn't Helen's pretty eyes that swayed him, or his lackluster self control, or even his drive for the greater good. It was his memory of holding back Reg's hair as the puffed up pomegranate seeds slopped out of his mouth, over the window ledge and into Kreacher's begonias; it was how Sirius took the blame for that one and he didn't even mind, because he'd gotten to laugh about it for weeks; and it was because years later, at Andy's birthday party, Regulus had nudged his side and nodded towards their elderly uncle spooning seeds out of a split pomegranate before raising his eyebrows and flashing him one of his rare, secret smiles.

Gods, and he did owe him one, didn't he?

"...Alright. But you need to let me help you as well."

"There's nothing I need help with."

Sirius got a good chuckle out of that one. "You know, I'm not nearly as stupid as I look."

"Excuse me?"

He crossed his arms and tipped his chair back, looking down his nose at her with a look of supreme self-aggrandizement that only breeding and money could create. Self-confidently he proclaimed, "You are completely and utterly up to something and I want in."

"I'm not-"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You moved up here right in the middle of a crisis and now you're trying to save my poor baby brother while constantly looking over your shoulder. I mean, you've literally cornered yourself in the most defensible place in the room. I'm sure I'm missing something but you are definitely up to some sneaky, clandestine-"

She slammed his chair back onto all fours with the heel of her shoe and then kicked him in the shin for good measure. "Hush!"

"So it _is_ a secret."

"You're wrong." His face fell and he leaned forward to argue his case, but she held up a single finger and for some reason that kept his mouth shut, "You _are_ as stupid as you look."

"So I can help?"

She sighed with her whole body, probably her whole soul. "Oh… I don't know."

"Is that an 'I don't know so no' or a-"

"It's a maybe. Now hush up and finish your drink."

"Aye aye."

 

 

 

Hermione didn't bring up the specifics of her plan, and Sirius didn't ask. After… everything that had just happened she was starting to feel the fatigue creep into her bones. Sirius picked up the pieces of their strange conversation and soon things felt halfway normal.

How did he come to meet her on a school night? And how exactly did he learn the password to open the secret passage? She'd always wondered, but she'd never asked. This Sirius was quite forthcoming, and she'd wondered if the man in her future would have acted the same. In reflection, had she ever sat down with Sirius and simply spoke to him, without Harry or the war or-?

She hadn't. She should have.

She wasn't quite sure how long they spoke for. Long enough for people to come and go, and for Sirius to slowly devour all of his and most of her share of the pie (he was so very tall, and lanky in that way that teenaged boy are, that she had to fend off the urge to buy him another). Eventually the light from the window dulled from a bright white to winter's early evening glow.

A dark shadow cut off the light and Sirius stopped mid sentence, eyes wide. Hermione sat up immediately, her hand scrabbling up her sleeve for her wand holster but it was-

It was just a boy with messy black hair and thick rimmed glasses, wiggling his fingers with a manic grin on his face. Hermione quickly looked away.

"Friend of yours?"

"Unfortunately." He said wryly. Perhaps it was just the fire's sheen, but he looked a little red.

"You shouldn't leave him waiting."

"I'm sure _he can wait_." Sirius said, more to the window than to her.

"It's nearly dark, Sirius. We'll talk again later."

"Oh yeah?" He turned back towards her and grinned widely, white teeth flashing. He had… a very nice smile. Of course he did. He was a very handsome young man and doubtlessly knew it.

"Yes, Sirius."

"Then I'll be counting the hours." He said as he gathered his things, the same stupid smile on his face. He really shouldn't tease her like this, it was starting to grate on her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm sure."

"Write me?" He asked as he backed away towards the door.

" _Yes_ , Sirius. Go!"

He laughed infuriatingly, knocking the door open with his palm and- did he just wink at her? How absolutely ridiculous.

Still, she watched him leave through the window from the corner of her eye. He was quickly swallowed up by a group of peers -was that Lily?- and they began to walk off, seemingly safe enough. Sirius spared a glance back at the Leakey before rounding a corner, but she doubted he could see her.

Hermione waited a few moments before letting out a small sigh and gathering her thoughts. So. That was out of the way. And now… She moved up and around her table, across the room, and down again beside a man with a hooded purple cloak hanging over a bristly red beard.

"Why are you following me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter like twice before realizing why I'm idiot I am (shall I count the ways?). Thanks for waiting!


	7. Chapter 7

“Why are you following me?”

His faded purple cloak was pulled low over his face, but Hermione knew that bright beard and had seen those thick shoulders. Near as she was he was nigh unmistakable-- it was Gideon Prewett, hunkered down heavily in his seat, his brow set to narrow and his jaw pulled tight with irritation. He looked at her only a moment before turning his attention back to his murky mug of flat tap.

Hermione bristled like a hedgehog when she realized he’d just _rolled his eyes_ at her. “I _said--_ ”

“Can’t a man drink in peace?”

Hermione’s mouth parted in shock. The… absolute nerve. There was something rising up within her, something that she’d not felt in a long time. Gideon had been standing outside the bookstore because of _her_ ; had slowly walked down the alley because of _her_ ; and he had not sat himself here, doing nothing but staring stupidly at his drink for the past two hours for any reason other than _her._

Her glare was a force of nature, and even this silly, stubborn man couldn’t possibly be unswayed.

Gideon looked up, down, and then up again, as if he expected her to disappear between one moment and the next, but Hermione’s stare only grew fiercer. He awkwardly hockeyed his mug from hand to hand over the table before he let loose a quiet groan. “I’m not following you.”

“Then you’re just watching me?” For _hours_ , her eyes tacked on.

Gideon gnashed his teeth and turned his head away once more. Hermione politely waited for him to say his piece, but of course, he didn’t say a word.

“Who gave you the orders?” She demanded.

“Who says I had any?” He muttered obstinately.

“So you’re stalking me on your own time?”

He snorted. “You think I have any time?”

Ah, yes, she was beginning to remember what the feeling was called. It wasn’t that she felt threatened since she was sure Gideon would not hurt her. It wasn’t irritation, either, or even anger. It was absolutely _righteous_ indignation, and somewhere, deep inside of her, the flowering of a tiny seed of embarrassment, because… because...

No, not right now. Later. Because there had to be another reason, right?

“You-- _ugh_. Stop answering my questions with questions!”

Gideon leaned back in his seat, letting his arm lay long across the back, and finally -- _finally--_ looked at her. The two of them observed one another for a moment, and Hermione knew he was thinking about her just intently as she was of him. Surely he would realize that she was not to be trifled with, that she meant _business_.

“You’re uppity today.”

Hermione had no idea where this great neanderthal got his presumption, but she was of a mind to find the source and smash it. Her mouth pinched tight and her head lifted high. “I am not _uppity_ , I am--” She wracked her mind for a suitable alternative before she realized no one had ever given her one. Honestly, she’d usually gotten worse. _Still_. “It doesn’t matter what I am. If you won’t deign to answer me, then I will simply find out on my own.”

He didn't say a word. Hermione considered that he may have been too stupid to form any. She huffed haughtily and stands to leave, and of course, that’s when Gideon speaks.

“It’s not what you think it is.”

“And what do I think it is?” Hermione scoffed. Gideon rolled his eyes and she didn't have the energy to be proud of it, “No, not very fun, is it? If I see you, or your brother, any sooner than Friday I will be very cross.” Her teeth clenched but she didn’t want to be _too_ rude, so she sighed and finished with a half-hearted, “Good evening.”

She moved to leave but his fingers drummed down on the table, and so quietly she wondered if she’d imagined it he said, “You should speak to him.”

She blinked. “Who?”

“You know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” She said, though she thought she caught his meaning. “As I said, Prewett, good evening.”

She felt his eyes on her as she left, but he didn’t get up. Hermione’s ears popped as she passed through his corner --he’d warded them?-- and wondered if she knew even half as much as she thought she did.

  


 

Hermione walked over the cobbles, stepping lightly over old snow streaks and half-frozen puddles. The evening was getting older; the sky was purpling and the shop windows were hazing the street in orange and amber.

Her first stop was the tiny second-hand store which had the misfortune of being stuffed in the basement beneath Eeylops. She sold one of the etched silver rings Dumbledore had given her for less than it was worth, and the lady behind the counter exclaimed over how very _darling_ it was and asked her where she’d gotten it. Hermione handed her the patented lie-- a relative from France. With the money she’d received, Hermione bought a gray cloak, old enough to serve her purposes and lined liminally in faded provençal blue.

Slug and Jiggers was nearly empty when she entered, save for the shop girl and a few old patrons, which she considered a stroke of luck. Hermione scooped a few ounces of dried wormwood into her paper packet beside a man measuring bottle green wings into a snuff box. Deliberately, she snatched a bottle of sloshing black eyes, a few spikes of pointed yellow asphodel, and a copper scale, before heading out once more into the dusk.

The sun hadn’t quite set yet so she wasted some time in Flourish and Blott’s.  In a moment of sagacity, she did a quick costume change between the stacks, switching her black cloak for the gray and fixing her frazzled hair with her fingers. She left before she could buy anything, her finger sliding longingly down the book spines as she went. She had things to do.

By now it was nearly late, and all that were left in the alley were wayward stragglers hugging the eaves. Hermione walked slowly towards the bend in the way. She stopped and looked back once, no, twice, before pulling her hood high and descending into the depths of Knockturn Alley.

  


 

“Stop taking my pawns.” James said like a snot.

Sirius crossed his ankle, pillowed his cheek upon his fist, and flashed his best ‘smug ponce’ smirk --which James had once said made him uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons-- and said, “Then stop leaving them out in the open.”

“Tosser.”

“Dick.”

“James! Language!” Mrs. Potter scolded, somehow managing to make the simple gesture of placing her teacup back on the platter seem threatening.

Honestly, Sirius wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Mrs. Potter had corralled the Death Eater threat with just that little lift of the eyebrow. She was prim and proper in the way they didn’t make them anymore, and with just enough bite to keep her terrifying. Sirius had a hunch that all the authoritarian vibes had to do with her hair-- she had this massive spool of gray hair that she piled so high on her head that you nearly forgot that the woman was actually five foot nothing. James, on the other hand, fondly claimed that it was because she was born under a bad star.

James threw his hands up in disgust. “What he said was worse!”

“Well, Sirius has the face for it.” Mrs. Potter said with one of her holier-than side eyes, “It sounds a bit silly coming from you, darling.”

“Wow, mum, thanks...”

Sirius flashed Mrs. Potter a winning smile, and Mrs. Potter nodded daintily in return, the lid of her left eye lowering so subtly no one would blame you for missing it. Sirius didn’t, and neither did James. James gave his mum a snippy look, nose scrunched and cheeks puffed, but ended up breaking character with a snuffy snort which sounded so stupid Sirius ended up sniggering behind his fist.

Mrs. Potter fluttered away their laughter with an imperious wave and turned back to Mr. Potter, “As I was saying, love, that new Professor is simply outrageous. We’ve already allowed him longer planning periods-- of course, he did start so late in the year, you know, so it made _some_ sort of sense. But now he’s come calling upon the board insisting that he needs an _assistant_! The presumption of it all!”

Mr. Potter absently twisted the page of his evening paper --honestly, what was so fucking important that they needed two in a day?--  and shuffled his fuzzily-footed feet beside the warmth of the fire. “He’ll be gone by the end of the year, I reckon.”

“Oh, I know that, but he’s here now, and _I’m_ here now…”

“Do you mean that Defense professor? Tattings?” Sirius asked after lazily taking James’ Queen.

“I really shouldn’t say…” Mrs. Potter said as she set her tea on the side table. Sirius, who had spent enough time with his cousins and their girlfriends to know that actually meant they were _dying_ to tell you, just leaned forward and waited.  “Oh, but I suppose I already spoke of it. Yes, it is that… that _man_. None of his peers have them, what makes him think he’s the exception?”

“He’s a bit barmy, mum, might has well give him the boot.” James swung his legs over the arms of the burgundy chaise, his face squishing in rage when he looked back at the chess table, “You bastard, I told you to leave them alone!”

“James!”

“ _Mum_!” James flopped back like a fish.

“You told me to stop taking your pawns. Never said a word about your Queen,” Sirius grinned, sleek as dragon scales, and turned to hit his full charm on Mrs. Potter-- smile crooked and eyes creased he said, “I think you’d make a wonderful professor yourself, Mrs. Potter. You’ve got a way with words, you know, and I’m sure you’d have half the student body at your heels.”

“Oh hush, Sirius.” Euphemia said with a laugh, waving her hand in front of her face and pretending --badly-- that she wasn’t blushing. Mr. Potter chuckled from behind his paper and murmured some silly, gentle teasing to his wife that only made her turn redder.

“Disgusting, the lot of you.” James fiercely proclaimed, before throwing a pawn at Sirius’ face and smirking when it smacked him in the eye. “Anyways, where’s dinner? I’m starved.”

“He hasn’t any patience, love.” Mrs. Potter said to her husband, “Where did we go wrong?”

Mr. Potter finally put down his paper and asked, “If we tack on the nine months, would that make it eighteen years ago?”

  


 

The path was sheltered from the snow by the thick thatch of shingled roofs and swinging signs. Water, as ever, managed to find a way to _drip, drip, drip_ down the slopes and through the slats before it spilled, ice hot, onto the tip of Hermione’s nose.

“Lovely cloak.” A twisted beggar hissed, her black fingers catching like barbs on the satin hem.

Hermione shuffled around her in a snap, her muttered thank you cutting absurdly through the alley’s natural miasma.

She shuffled quickly through the winding stairways with their claustrophobic walls, determined to be unmolested, and let the dirty, leaning storefronts pass her by like pages from a picture book-- a tavern with green tinged windows; displays filled with blinking eyes and twirling, hanging creatures; husky singing and echoing laughter behind a red painted door.

It seemed to take a million years, but eventually she found her destination. The window was blocked by thick black curtains, but she could read the sign clearly enough, even through the weathering and grime. The door jangled with bells when she entered, and the smell of mildew and mothballs hung as heavily as perfume.

The store’s bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling but the selection was sparse, and though the books that were available looked near to disintegrating, they were laid out as carefully as a king’s jewels. The elderly man manning the counter was fast asleep, his golden monocle hanging haphazardly down his chest. There was only one other person in the store, but he was too slender to be who she was waiting for and she paid him little mind, save for where he hid the outline of his wand.

Hermione waited, and she browsed.

These were the types of books Hogwarts had kept behind locks and wards, lest too-smart boys with penchants for the dark arts grabbed hold of them and read what could not be unlearned.  Dark curses, incurable poisons and destructions of the soul. She found herself standing before a tarnished glass case with a single black book placed inside, the top irresponsibly left open, and splayed her hand on the glass.

“Don’t touch that.”

She knew that voice, didn’t she? She’d heard it’s like before, dark and smoky, but this time it was different, raspier and yet somehow… primmer. Hermione twisted her head, just a little, and was startled despite herself.

It was Regulus, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?

“I’m not.” Hermione replied dryly, letting her hood hang low and her hair fall like a curtain between them.

She saw his face pinch between the wave of her dark curls, his gray eyes cold and condescending. “It’s Montague’s Mask of the Twelve.” He said, like this was something everyone should know, and Hermione had a sudden insight into just how she’d alienated herself as a child. “It’s a powerfully cursed object. You’d never wake up.”

“Yes, I _can_ read.”  She gently closed the display,  pressing until they both could hear the resounding _click_ , and ran her fingers over the bumps of the bronze placard holder. The book's name, and it's many malicious side effects, were written for all to see in scrawling, crawling cursive.

His eyes roved from the yellowing paper beneath her hand, up her arm, to the coils of her hair spilling out of her gray cloak. Hermione was sure he couldn’t see her, let alone recognize her, but his eyes narrowed by a fraction, a hair too aware to keep her comforted.

The door swung open, the bells rung jollily, and Antonin Dolohov arrived.

“Young Master Regulus and… Mlle. Gremillion. I wasn’t aware you two knew one another.”

“We don’t.” Regulus said, “I was just leaving.”

“Hm. Well.” Dolohov pulled down his black hood. His mouth smiled but his eyes were dark and fathomless as always. “Send your mother my good regards then.”

“Yes, I will. Good evening.” Regulus said with cold precision. He cut Hermione one last long look, mouth twisted like his brother’s did when he was trying to puzzle something out, and left, storming but controlled, like lightning in a bottle.

And then they were suddenly alone, and Hermione realized that all the planning in the world couldn’t make her feel prepared.

Dolohov took his time to speak, a lackadaisical swagger leeching into his step, like he had all the time in the world and he wanted her to know it. He wiped a finger along the shelves, examined the thick fuzz of dust, and asked, “Have you been admiring the wares?”

She sighed and looked back to the case, “They’re interesting enough.”

“I’d thought you’d find it so.” He said, and she didn’t need to look up to hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yes, well.” She looked up, ‘Get on with it’ splashed plain across her face. She was relieved when he laughed. Perhaps she was playing this right after all?

“I’m glad you read my letter. Was it the gift that convinced you?”

“No.” Hermione scowled, “And I did not come here to bandy words, Mr. Dolohov. You said you had need of me and I'm here. If you won’t tell me what I'm here for than I have other places to be.”

His green gaze glowed, not like the killing curse, no, too dark for that... No, it reminded her of the sickly light that shone from the tomb that was the Chamber of Secrets. “Very well then." Dolohov said, "I would have us speak somewhere more… private. If you would follow me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: haha i'll have the next chapter out in a few days!!!1!!  
> also me: *one month later*
> 
> This chapter is short, but it has lots of plot and stuff, so...?

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. I'm here to fulfill your need for cheesy cliches and abuse the italics.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed it.


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